Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Being Daniel Ricciardo’s friend was many things.

Fun, obviously. The man weaponized jokes.

Safe, surprisingly. After just the first season as teammates, Lando knew he could go to him with pretty much anything and wouldn’t be laughed at in a way that cut. Daniel teased, but he never diminished.

And then there was the unpredictability.

That was the dangerous part.

Daniel had more energy than Lando on his best days, and Lando had a lot of energy. But Daniel’s came without warning. It spiked at 2 a.m., rerouted plans without discussion, turned “quick lunch” into a six-hour adventure. Being around him meant surrendering to chaos.

Which is how Lando ended up in Australia in the first place.

Technically, he’d been on vacation — one of those carefully curated off-season breaks filled with sun, privacy, and just enough social media presence to remind sponsors he was alive. A few days in Europe, maybe a yacht somewhere warm, something expensive and relaxing.

Then Daniel had called.

“We spend all our time in the UK and Monaco, mate. It’s only fair you come see where I’m from.”

Lando had rolled his eyes but booked the flight anyway.

It felt… normal. Easy.

The first two days were exactly what Daniel had promised.

Beach mornings with blinding sun and salt in Lando’s hair. Daniel insisting he needed “proper Australian exposure,” which apparently meant surf attempts that ended with Lando swallowing half the ocean while Daniel laughed like it was the best thing he’d ever seen.

They strolled through town in caps and sunglasses, suspiciously unnoticed. No paddock passes. No cameras shoved into their faces. Just two guys grabbing iced coffee and arguing about which bakery made the better sausage roll.

They played video games until stupid hours of the night, competitive and loud, Daniel dramatically accusing Lando of cheating every time he lost.

There was even dinner with Daniel’s family — warm, loud, comfortable. Lando found himself smiling more than he expected. It was grounding in a way the paddock rarely was. No performance. No persona. Just being.

It was nice.

Suspiciously nice.

And Lando should have known that with Daniel, “nice” never lasted quietly.

On the third night, sometime deep in that heavy, dreamless sleep that only comes after sun and sea air, Lando was violently shaken awake.

He flinched upright, heart hammering.

“C’mon, sleeping beauty.”

Even in the dark, Daniel’s grin practically glowed. There was something feral about it. Excited. Anticipatory.

Lando squinted at the bedside clock.

“What the hell,” he croaked. “It’s three.”

“Exactly.” Daniel clapped his hands once, far too awake for the hour. “Perfect timing.”

“For what?” Lando dragged a hand down his face. “A sunrise meditation? Because I will physically fight you.”

Daniel laughed, low and delighted.

“Nope. I’m gonna show you the real reason I invited you here.”

Lando froze for half a second.

“The beach wasn’t the real reason?”

Daniel shook his head slowly, eyes sparkling with something that made Lando instantly wary.

“Put on something you don’t mind getting dirty,” he said. “And maybe don’t wear anything with a sponsor logo.”

That was the moment Lando’s stomach flipped.

Because Daniel Ricciardo’s version of “don’t wear sponsor logos” had never once led to something sensible.

That’s how he ended up in a plain grey hoodie, an ordinary Puma cap pulled low over his curls, the most anonymous he’d looked in years.

No team kit.

No logos.

No polished paddock prince.

Just Lando.

He slid into the passenger seat and shut the door with a solid thud, the interior stripped down to something far less civilized than he was used to.

“Had no idea you owned a Skyline,” he commented, adjusting the cap as he buckled in.

A cold can of Red Bull sweated in his hand. He tried not to wince at it — ironic, really, considering the branding of half his professional life — but he needed the caffeine boost if Daniel insisted on functioning like a nocturnal creature.

Daniel shot him a sideways grin as the engine rumbled to life.

“I don’t really go around announcing it,” he said lightly. “It’s an undercover car.”

Lando snorted. “Right. Very subtle.”

Daniel didn’t elaborate.

He just shifted gears.

The drive wasn’t long. Fifteen minutes, maybe twenty. The city thinned around them, bright storefronts giving way to warehouses and low industrial buildings. Streetlights grew sparse. Traffic disappeared entirely.

The air felt different out here — heavier. Quieter.

Daniel turned down a narrow road that didn’t look like it led anywhere important, tires crunching lightly over uneven asphalt.

And then the sound reached them.

Low at first. A distant vibration. Then clearer.

Engines.

They pulled into what looked like an abandoned parking lot at the edge of nowhere.

Except it wasn’t abandoned.

It was alive.

People moved in clusters under scattered floodlights. Music thudded from somewhere unseen. Girls in tiny skirts leaned against car hoods, laughing too loudly. Guys hovered nearby, trying a little too hard to impress.

But that wasn’t what made Lando’s pulse tick up.

Cars.

So many cars.

Old Japanese imports sitting low to the ground. Classic muscle cars with polished chrome gleaming under harsh lights. Newer builds with aggressive body kits. Flashy paint jobs. Beat-up shells that looked like they’d been rebuilt from scrap and stubbornness alone.

Hoods were propped open everywhere. People bent over engines, tweaking, tuning, arguing.

No uniformity. No sponsors. No pristine hospitality units or motorhomes in sight.

It was messy. Loud. Unapologetic.

Lando stared out the window, lips parting slightly despite himself.

“This is…” he muttered.

Daniel killed the engine.

“Different?” he offered.

Lando huffed out a quiet laugh.

“It’s like we just drove onto a Fast & Furious set.”

Except this wasn’t a set.

There were no cameras. No choreography. No safety briefings.

Just raw anticipation humming in the air.

A car somewhere nearby revved — sharp, aggressive and the crowd reacted instantly, attention snapping toward it like iron to a magnet.

Lando felt it then.

That familiar shift in his chest before a race.

Not the polished pre-grid ceremony feeling. Not the orchestrated anthem and formation lap ritual.

This was something more primal.

He glanced at Daniel slowly.

“You brought me to an illegal street race.”

Daniel’s smile widened, utterly unrepentant.

“Welcome to Australia, mate.”

Daniel was already out of the car before Lando had fully processed where they were.

“C’mon,” the Aussie called over his shoulder.

Not about to be left standing alone in the dark, Lando pushed the door open and followed, hands tucked into the front pocket of his hoodie, cap still low over his face.

Heads turned — not in recognition, not yet but in curiosity. Daniel, on the other hand, was greeted like he belonged.

A small cluster of about six people broke into grins as he approached. Claps on the back. Quick handshakes. Easy laughter.

“Ric’s back!”

“Took you long enough!”

Lando hovered half a step behind, observing.

Daniel pulled him forward without ceremony. “Oi, behave. This is Lando.”

Names were thrown at him — quick, casual.

Luca. Or maybe Levi. Someone with a buzzcut. Someone with a sleeve tattoo. Another guy with oil under his fingernails. A girl with sharp eyeliner and sharper eyes.

Lando nodded politely, but the sounds blurred together.

His mind was elsewhere.

Spinning.

This was illegal. Obviously illegal. There were no barriers. No marshals. No medical cars waiting discreetly in the background. No FIA paperwork. No stewards.

If something went wrong here, it would really go wrong.

The responsible part of his brain — the one trained by contracts and PR teams and managers was screaming.

This is a terrible idea.

If anyone finds out—

If you get recognized—

But underneath that?

It was cool.

Terrifyingly cool.

He’d never seen anything like this up close. Not like this. Not raw and buzzing and unfiltered.

The energy wasn’t corporate. It wasn’t curated.

It was alive.

And he was hooked before he could help it.

“Mate, couldn’t have picked better timing,” one of the guys said — Luca? Levi? — nudging Daniel with an elbow. “Heard Piastri’s showing up tonight.”

Lando didn’t miss it.

That flicker in Daniel’s eyes.

Interest. Anticipation.

“Oh yeah?” Daniel replied casually, but it was forced casual. Too light.

Lando glanced between them. “Who’s Piastri?”

“No one,” the girl cut in immediately.

She was the only one whose name had stuck — Sophia. Dark hair, arms crossed, expression unimpressed.

Daniel rolled his eyes. “Don’t listen to her. She’s biased.”

Sophia shot him a look. “I’m realistic.”

Daniel leaned closer to Lando, lowering his voice as if sharing state secrets. “Her boyfriend’s biggest rival,” he stage-whispered, making exaggerated air quotes around rival.

Sophia shoved his shoulder.

Lando blinked. “Okay… rival in what?”

“Everything,” one of the guys muttered.

Daniel straightened, grin widening. “Street king around here. Doesn’t stay in one place long. Rolls in, wins, disappears. Bit dramatic if you ask me.”

“That’s not dramatic,” Sophia snapped. “It’s smart.”

Daniel ignored her. “Theo’s been trying to beat him for years. Got close once. Thought he had him.”

“And?” Lando asked, despite himself.

Daniel’s eyes gleamed.

“And he didn’t.”

Sophia sighed but didn’t contradict him.

“He’s the only guy who’s ever been faster than Theo,” Daniel continued. “Three times.”

Three.

The number landed heavier than it should have.

Lando felt something tighten instinctively in his chest.

Fast.

Not lucky. Not chaotic.

Fast.

In a place like this, that meant something.

“And he’s that good?” Lando asked, trying for neutral curiosity.

Daniel’s grin softened just a fraction.

“Yeah,” he admitted. “He’s that good.”

Somewhere across the lot, an engine roared — deeper than the others, smoother.

The small crowd shifted subtly.

Not panicked.

Not loud.

Just… aware.

It was like the air itself tightened.

No one spoke. No one even seemed to breathe as headlights sliced through the dim lot and a low, unmistakable silhouette rolled past them.

A McLaren Senna.

“Fuck,” Lando thought, the word landing heavy and reverent in his mind.

He’d seen hundreds of McLarens up close. Artura. 720S. P1. He drove one of the most advanced race cars in the world for a living in Formula One. He could identify models by sound alone. He owned a few. He’d tested more.

But this one—

This one was different.

Matte black.

Not factory glossy — matte. The kind that absorbed light instead of reflecting it. Dark green accents traced along the edges like veins under skin. Subtle. Intentional.

It sat lower than any Senna Lando had ever seen. Not by much — just enough to make his trained eye twitch. The suspension had been adjusted, aggressive but precise. The rear wing sat at a sharper angle, tipped just slightly further down than standard it was barely noticeable unless you knew what you were looking at.

Lando knew.

And the sound.

God.

It wasn’t the usual scream. It didn’t need to be. The engine purred at first — a restrained, controlled growl — then deepened into something smoother, richer. Tuned. Refined. Dangerous.

It didn’t shout for attention.

It whispered it.

And somehow that was worse.

The kind of car that didn’t need to prove anything.

The kind that simply knew.

Lando felt it in his chest — that instinctive spark of respect that only real engineering could ignite in him.

Whoever built this understood aerodynamics. Understood balance. Understood restraint.

And whoever drove it?

Wasn’t here to play.

The Senna rolled past slowly, almost lazily, before settling into a space near the edge of the lot. The engine cut, and the silence that followed was thick.

The door lifted slowly.

And Lando’s focus narrowed without permission.

He only caught pieces at first, movement, shape. The driver stepped out with no rush, no attempt at performance. Tall. Lean. Comfortable.

Soft waves of hair fell naturally, almost unfairly neat despite the hour. Under the harsh parking lot lights, faint moles marked his skin. There was grease on his fingers — not from tonight’s arrival, but from work. Real work.

Not polished paddock hands.

Built hands.

Then he looked up.

Those eyes.

Sharp. Focused. Calm in a way that wasn’t lazy it was deliberate. They didn’t scan for approval. They didn’t search for attention.

They measured.

They flicked across Daniel first, something like recognition flashing there.

Then they moved.

And landed on Lando.

For half a second.

Long enough.

Long enough for Lando to feel stripped of the anonymity his hoodie and cap were supposed to give him. Long enough to feel evaluated — not as a celebrity, not as a brand, but as a driver.

The look didn’t hold admiration.

It didn’t hold hostility either.

It held assessment.

And then it was gone.

Like Lando had already been sorted into a category.

His pulse kicked up hard in his throat.

He’d been stared at by rivals before. By champions. By drivers who’d grown up wanting to beat him.

But this felt different.

There were no cameras here. No lap charts. No statistics to hide behind.

Just instinct recognizing instinct.

The Senna ticked softly as it cooled behind him.

And Lando knew, with sudden, terrifying clarity—

He wasn’t the most dangerous driver in this parking lot tonight.

Which was stupid.

He’d come in second last season. He was fast. Professional. Trained. Calculated. He shouldn’t feel… threatened. Not by a street racer. Not by anyone.

So why did Daniel bring him here?

Another joke, probably. Another sly dig at Lando’s posh life. The Aussie loved to poke fun at him; old money, polished, perfect suits, perfectly clean sneakers, perfectly rehearsed smiles. A night in the shadows like this, no cameras, no sponsors — it had “Dan” written all over it.

Lando tried to reason through it, tried to calm his pulse, but his mind was still spinning.

Slowly, the people around him started to relax again. Conversations picked up. Laughter returned. Engines purred in the background. The parking lot’s energy went back to its usual chaotic hum, as if nothing had happened.

Daniel leaned in, arm sliding over Lando’s shoulder, guiding him toward the edge of the lot. He started telling a story about the first time he’d come here, animated, laughing at himself, hands waving as he mimed dodging engines and slipping through crowds.

But Lando didn’t listen.

Couldn’t listen.

His eyes were locked on the prince-looking man, the one from the car — talking quietly with someone in the distance. Leaning casually against the Senna, moving like he owned nothing but still somehow everything. Then, without a word, he was back in the driver’s seat, adjusting something, shifting, ready.

The world around Lando seemed to slow. He blinked. Processed. And then it happened.

Everything happened fast after that.

Engines roared. Tires screamed against asphalt. Shouts cut through the night. Figures sprinted. Cars lined up. The prince from the matte black Senna glanced over, a slight smirk flickering across his face.

Daniel grinned at Lando, eyes wide with the thrill he’d been waiting for.

“Ready?” he shouted.

Lando’s pulse surged. His hands tightened on his hoodie. He swallowed hard, heart hammering, and realized — he was about to go head-to-head with someone who might just be faster than him.

And he didn’t even know it yet.

A girl stepped forward, pretty, dirty blonde hair tied back, dressed far too modestly for the chaos around her. She waved a flag just like they did in the movies, and the cars roared to life, tires squealing against asphalt.

Lando watched the Senna speed off first, cutting through the night like a living shadow. His green eyes followed every movement as it approached the first turn. Faster. More precise. Dangerous. Almost drifting, teasing the limits, until finally, it disappeared completely from sight.

“What now?” Lando finally found his voice, heart still hammering.

“Well, seeing as there are no screens,” Daniel said, calm as ever, “we wait.”

Without the matte black McLaren or its owner anywhere near him, Lando felt his mind clear enough to think again. “How long is the lap?”

“4.3.” Daniel’s expression was pleased, seeing the younger finally absorbed in the event. “Average time is 1:11. Record? 1:08.” His voice dropped, almost reverent. “Set by Piastri two years ago.”

Lando barely processed the statistic before movement in the distance caught his eye. The Senna was back, gliding in like a predator, followed by the other cars. A flashy silver Nissan trailed close behind Lando assumed it must belong to Theo.

But the matte black car stayed in front.

It didn’t stop at the finish line. Instead, it swung around and lined itself back at the start.

“What is he doing?” Lando asked, frowning.

“Pushing,” Daniel said, almost like it was the simplest thing in the world.

“Pushing what?”

“Limits.”

The cars lined up again. One less than last time — the slowest had been parked. Out of the corner of his eye, Lando saw the driver slam the hood aggressively, a brief display of frustration or focus, and then climb back in.

Lando chuckled to himself. Despite the high stakes, he recognized the similarities to the paddock after all — the precision, the obsession with improvement.

Then it happened again. Flag waved. Tires screamed. Cars disappeared.

“What are the rules?” Lando asked, urgency creeping into his voice.

“Five cars. Four rounds,” Daniel explained calmly. “A bit like Quali. Slowest retires. Eliminates themselves, until only the fastest remains.”

“So it’s not actually racing?” Lando frowned, still confused.

“Oh, they do race each other along the way,” Daniel said, grinning. “Maybe I’ll take you to a different spot next time, so you can see more of the action.”

“Next time,” Lando echoed, heart pounding. He wanted a next time. He wanted to see it all. Every turn. Every engine roar. Every dangerous second.

And for the first time that night, fear and excitement twisted together in a way that made him feel alive.

Lando stayed mostly quiet after that, letting Daniel chatter on, catching up with friends, laughing too loudly, shaking hands, telling stories. He nodded here and there, but his eyes kept drifting to the lot, scanning the empty spaces, imagining the matte black Senna waiting for its next lap.

Round two played out the same as the first — the McLaren up front, effortless, calm. The third was no different. Lando could feel the pattern now, almost soothing, almost predictable.

Then came the fourth.

The lot went silent again. Even Daniel’s voice faded as the crowd tensed. Bits of conversations floated past him — something about Theo being fast, desperate to prove himself, to beat Piastri at any cost. Lando’s pulse picked up.

Sophia stepped forward this time to drop the flag. Some kind of girlfriend privilege, maybe — like F1 fans calling Kelly the “first WAG” because she was the partner of the reigning champion. Lando didn’t care enough to ask. He only cared about the cars.

As the engines roared and vanished into the night, Lando fixed his gaze on the corner where they would appear. Every muscle in his body was tense.

Silver first. Theo’s Nissan. His stomach dropped, bitter and uneasy. Somehow, in these twenty minutes he’s been here, Lando’s brain had decided he was a Piastri fan. Or maybe his heart had. Recognition clicked too quickly for reason — and the feeling was ridiculous.

Then the matte black McLaren appeared. Calm. Steady. Not speeding up, not slowing down. Perfectly in control. Too perfect. Unsettling.

The Nissan took the last turn. Lando felt a pang in his chest. He wanted to look away, but he physically couldn’t.

And then it happened.

Theo’s car spun. Dirt kicked up in a violent arc. Tires flailed. It skidded straight toward a tree and stopped just inches from disaster. A dramatic halt, the kind that made the stomach twist.

The Senna rolled through the cloud of dust, unwavering, precise, smooth, to the finish line for the final time that night.

Lando’s brain went offline.

Did he… know? 

Because it looked like Piastri had known. Every movement had been calculated the distance, the speed, the calm precision. Safe but untouchable. He must have known.

The crowd erupted, surging toward the parked matte car. People pressed forward, hands out, shouting congratulations.

Lando didn’t move at first. He stayed frozen, planted firmly in place as people moved around him. Cars rolled past, leaving trails of red and white lights that cut through the dark. The cheers, the shouting, the revving engines — it all blurred into one chaotic hum that pressed against his chest.

And then he realized he was alone. One moment, Daniel had been leaning against him, joking, clapping a hand on his shoulder. The next… nothing. Gone.

Panic bloomed, cold and sharp, twisting in his stomach.

He took a small step forward. And another. Green eyes scanning, darting, trying to find the familiar figure of Daniel, or at least the navy hoodie and cap that marked him. Heart hammering. Breath catching. The adrenaline coursing through him sharpened every sound — the clack of shoes on asphalt, the metallic scrape of a car door, the murmurs and laughter of the crowd, the distant growl of engines starting again.

His hands flexed at his sides, fingers brushing against the fabric of his hoodie. Race, Senna, Piastri — all of it faded to a background hum. His brain switched entirely into survival mode. He was in a foreign country, at an illegal race, surrounded by strangers whose intentions he didn’t know.

He pushed forward, weaving between clusters of people. Some were waving, shouting at friends, or gesturing excitedly toward the cars. Others were just milling about, leaning casually against vehicles. Lando’s pulse spiked with every step, every shift of the crowd. His eyes flicked from one shadow to the next, looking for movement, for someone familiar, anything to anchor him.

Why had he agreed to this? Why had he left the house, the warmth of a quiet room, the predictable comfort of his posh vacation? He should be asleep, curled under soft sheets, not shoved into chaos, lost and vulnerable. Every rational part of his brain screamed at him to stop, to retreat, to take a deep breath and collect himself.

And then, before he could even process another thought, a hand gripped his arm. Hard. Instantly pulling him off his feet.

His head went blank. Pulse skyrocketed.

He barely registered the interior of the car as he was shoved inside. The door slammed before he could react, rattling against the frame with a metallic clang. No seatbelt. No time to protest. No chance to brace himself.

The engine growled — low, controlled, menacing — before the car lurched forward. Tires screamed against asphalt, sending the crowd scattering in every direction.

Lando’s stomach pitched violently. Every nerve screamed. His hands gripped the edges of the seat instinctively. The lights of the lot streaked past in a blur, and the night became nothing but motion, sound, and the overwhelming sense that he had just stepped into something far beyond him.

This wasn’t just a ride. This wasn’t just adrenaline or fun. This was a reckoning and Lando had no idea what he’d just gotten himself into.

“I heard rumours about Ricardo going to these things, but would never expect to see the golden boy in such a place.”

The voice was deep, smooth, somehow calming despite the speed, despite the chaos around them.

Lando’s eyes darted to the driver. Calm. Collected. Every movement precise, effortless. One hand resting lightly on the wheel, the other shifting the manual gearbox with ease.

“Piastri.”

The Australian glanced at him briefly, expression unimpressed. “I prefer Oscar, if you will.”

Oscar. The name rolled off Lando’s tongue in his mind, and suddenly a shiver ran down his spine. Giving the man a name made him real. Tangible. Dangerous. Somehow closer.

“You…” Lando started, words catching in his throat. “Did you just… kidnap me?”

Oscar’s smirk deepened, a reaction at last, sharp and knowing. “Kidnapped? More like saved,” he said, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest. “People were staring. Recognising you.”

Lando’s pulse picked up again, faster now, heat creeping to his neck. Saved? Staring? Recognising him?

“You—” he tried again, but words failed. He couldn’t decide whether he was angry, terrified, or… something else entirely.

Oscar’s hand shifted, smooth and controlled. “Relax,” he said simply. “You’re fine.”

Lando’s green eyes narrowed, scanning him, searching for threat, challenge, maybe even a hint of amusement. The calm precision of him, the way he drove, the way he spoke — it was almost hypnotic.

And somehow, that made Lando’s stomach twist even more.

The silence that came after that was welcome. Lando leaned back slightly, trying to calm himself, to gather his scattered thoughts while Oscar remained perfectly still, patient, letting him do it at his own pace.

The whole night had been ridiculous. Completely out of his comfort zone. Pushing boundaries he didn’t even know he had. He was used to adrenaline, sure, but this was different — raw, unpredictable, uncontrolled. Driving a Formula One car, on the other hand, was something he could practically do with his eyes closed, at least in the simulator. Precise, measured, familiar. Everything tonight had been the opposite.

The twists, the turns, the unknown it was exhilarating, terrifying, and exhausting all at once. Lando’s hands flexed in his lap as he forced himself to focus on something simple: the subtle hum of the car around him, the gentle vibrations through the seat, the calm composure of the man next to him.

He concentrated on breathing. Slowly. In. Out. In. Out. Trying to match the rhythm of the engine, to let the chaos behind.

After a few moments, he finally broke the silence. “Where are we going?” His voice was quiet, almost hesitant, like testing the waters.

“You tell me,” Oscar said, still not glancing at him. “Unless you want to go back to Melbourne with me — which I doubt.”

“I—” Lando hesitated. Of course he didn’t know Daniel’s address here in Australia. He started to mutter, then suddenly remembered something. The forgotten phone in his jeans pocket.

He dug it out, screen lighting up immediately. Notifications. A horrendous amount. Missed calls, messages stacked on top of each other. Mostly from Daniel. No wonder he hadn’t noticed anything earlier — the phone had been on ‘Do Not Disturb’ the entire time.

Lando’s thumb hovered over the screen, heart racing a little faster. He could feel the weight of everything he’d left behind pressing in for just a second — and then he let it go, focusing again on the car, on Oscar, on the surreal night he had found himself living.

He shot a quick text to Daniel.

I’m fine. Send address.

No explanation. No apologies. Just enough to stop a manhunt.

His phone immediately started buzzing Daniel calling. Of course he was. Lando stared at the screen for half a second before declining it. Another buzz. Another call.

He ignored that too.

The address came through next, a pinned location.

He looked at it.

Then locked his phone.

Because despite everything — the panic, the chaos, the fact he had just been pulled into a car by a man he technically didn’t know something twisted deep inside him didn’t want this night to end.

Not yet.

Now that his nerves had finally settled, clarity crept back in. And with it came something unexpected.

This was the most fun he’d had in a while.

Not staged fun. Not sponsor-dinner fun. Not “let’s film a challenge for content” fun.

Real fun.

The emotions, the passion, the raw, unfiltered talent he had witnessed tonight — it had awakened something in him. Something competitive. Curious.

Hungry.

“I’m pretty sure the Senna doesn’t come in manual,” he said casually, breaking the quiet.

There it was.

A reaction.

Oscar’s eyebrow lifted slightly, eyes flicking toward him for half a second. “You’re right. It doesn’t.”

“The rear wing is angled differently as well,” Lando added, more confident now.

A corner of Oscar’s mouth twitched. “What else did you notice?”

There was something in his tone now. Not mocking. Interested.

“It’s lower. Suspension’s been adjusted. Has to be,” Lando continued, leaning slightly forward as if he could still see it in his mind. “And the engine — it doesn’t sound stock. It’s cleaner. Less restriction. I think…”

Oscar shifted gears smoothly before answering.

“ECU remap,” he said. “Custom tune. Nothing stupid. Just optimized the fuel mapping and throttle response.”

Lando nodded slowly. That tracked.

“Upgraded downpipes,” Oscar continued. “Less back pressure. Helps it breathe properly.”

“That explains the tone,” Lando murmured, almost to himself.

“Titanium exhaust system,” Oscar added. “Lighter. Better flow.”

Of course.

“What about the ride height?” Lando asked.

“Adjustable coilovers,” Oscar replied easily. “Dialed it down about twenty millimeters. Stiffer spring rates. Keeps body roll minimal without making it undriveable on public roads.”

Public roads.

Lando almost laughed.

“And the wing?” he pressed.

“Custom mounts,” Oscar said. “Slightly more aggressive angle for extra rear downforce at high speed. Helps through the long sweeper near the docks.”

So he’d tuned it for the specific course.

Lando’s stomach flipped again — but this time not from fear.

“You changed the gearbox too,” he said carefully.

Oscar’s jaw tightened just slightly.

“Converted it,” he admitted. “Sequential manual. Paddle systems are great on track. Out here…” he shrugged faintly, “…I prefer feeling it.”

Lando stared at him.

“You rebuilt a Senna transmission.”

“I improved it.”

The confidence wasn’t cocky. It was factual.

“What about weight?” Lando asked, fully engaged now.

“Carbon bucket replacements. Stripped unnecessary interior trim. Lightweight battery. Swapped a few aluminum components for forged pieces. It’s about sixty kilos lighter than stock.”

Sixty kilos.

On a car that already wasn’t exactly heavy.

“You risked modifying a hypercar that costs—”

Oscar cut him off smoothly. “I didn’t modify it. I built it. When I first bought it, the car was practically a wreck.”

Lando turned his head properly at that.

“A wreck?” he repeated, disbelief clear in his voice.

“Front-end damage. Suspension shot. Engine needed a full teardown,” Oscar said evenly, like he was listing groceries. “Insurance wrote it off. I didn’t.”

“You bought a written-off Senna.”

“Cheap,” Oscar corrected.

Lando let out a breath that was almost a laugh. “That’s insane.”

Oscar shrugged slightly, downshifting with effortless precision. “It was either that or let it rot in some warehouse. At least this way it does what it was meant to do.”

Silence settled again.

But it wasn’t tense anymore.

It was charged.

The kind of silence that isn’t empty — it’s full of things unsaid.

Lando leaned back slowly, studying him more openly now. The calm posture. The quiet confidence. No bragging. No exaggeration. Just fact.

“You built a monster.”

Oscar glanced at him briefly, something sharper flickering in his eyes.

“No,” he said quietly. “I built something that can win.”

And for the first time that night, Lando didn’t feel like the golden boy.

He felt like he was sitting next to someone who loved racing just as much as he did.

Just differently.

“You did it yourself?” Lando asked, softer now. Because this wasn’t just bold — it was impressive. Work like that required knowledge. Skill. Patience. Obsession.

“Yeah.”

No hesitation.

“No big team? No engineers?”

Oscar shook his head once. “A couple friends helped with lifting the engine block. But the rest? Mine.”

Lando pictured it without meaning to.

Late nights in a cold garage. Grease under fingernails. Trial and error. Rebuilding something piece by piece until it obeyed you.

Not data sheets and simulations.

Hands.

“Wow,” was all Lando could manage at first. It sounded small compared to what it meant. “You could make a career out of that.”

“I could.” Oscar nodded once, eyes still on the road “But I couldn’t give up racing.”

There it was.

Not dramatic. Not bitter.

Just truth.

Lando swallowed.

Because he understood that. Deeply.

There was something in the way Oscar said it like racing wasn’t a hobby. It wasn’t even a dream.

It was oxygen.

“Did you ever think about going pro?” Lando asked.

There it was. The question that had been sitting at the back of his mind from the moment he saw that Senna launch off the line in the first round. The precision. The instinct. The control. That wasn’t luck. That wasn’t street flair.

That was training.

Oscar’s jaw shifted slightly.

“I tried,” the Aussie admitted, voice tighter now. Not defensive. Just… older somehow. “But money was tight growing up. Karting isn’t exactly cheap.” He gave a small, humorless breath of a laugh. “Had to quit before I had any real chance.”

Lando didn’t answer immediately.

Because he knew exactly what that ladder looked like. Karts. Travel. Entry fees. Engines. Tires. Endless tires. One season could swallow a small fortune. And that was before you even got noticed.

“You are good,” Lando said quietly. Not a question.

Oscar didn’t look at him. “Good enough to dream. Not good enough to get backed.”

That hit harder than it should have.

“Would’ve loved to race against you,” Lando said before he could overthink it.

That earned him a real glance.

Not amused. Not brushing it off.

Measured.

There it was again.

That silent thread pulling tight between them.

Different worlds. Different paths.

Same hunger.

Same fire.

The understanding settled quietly, heavy and undeniable.

They weren’t just two drivers in a car anymore.

They were two racers who had chosen different roads to survive the same obsession.

And somehow, that made the space between them feel smaller.

The air in the car felt dense all of a sudden not awkward, just weighted with too much honesty for one night.

“Are you hungry?” Oscar asked abruptly.

The question was unhinged enough to make Lando blink.

A distraction.

A deliberate one.

Lando just nodded, hoping Oscar caught it in his peripheral vision as he pulled his phone back out.

He texted Daniel.

Won’t be back anytime soon. Am safe tho.

Three dots appeared instantly.

He locked the screen before the reply could come.

A few minutes later, the glowing yellow arches came into view.

Oscar didn’t ask what he wanted. Just rolled into the drive-through like this was the most normal part of their night.

He ordered calmly, efficiently.

Lando opened his mouth to protest — something about macros, or routine, or at least choosing his own cheat meal — but then closed it again.

This night had already broken every rule he usually lived by.

What was one more?

Oscar paid before Lando could reach for anything.

That made him chuckle. “Seriously?”

They got the food absurdly fast. Oscar handed the paper bag over without ceremony, the warmth seeping through the thin packaging into Lando’s hands, before pulling out and driving off again.

He didn’t head back toward the city center.

Instead, he took a few quieter turns, narrower roads, less streetlight glare. For someone who didn’t live here, he moved like he knew exactly where he was going.

“You’ve done this before,” Lando observed lightly.

“Driven?” Oscar deadpanned.

“Escaped.”

A faint smirk. “Maybe.”

They eventually rolled to a stop near a lake just outside the main stretch of town. It was definitely not a legal parking spot. Gravel, low barrier, a small sign half-hidden in the dark that probably said something about restricted access.

Lando barely glanced at it.

What was new this night?

The engine clicked softly as it cooled. The world felt still in comparison to everything that had happened hours before.

Lando peeked inside the bag.

Two cheeseburgers. A large box of chicken nuggets. Fries wedged along the side.

He looked up at Oscar.

“Figured you didn’t need to be so strict with your diet,” the Aussie said, handing him a vanilla milkshake. “It’s winter break.”

There was the smallest hint of teasing in his tone.

Lando took the shake, fingers brushing Oscar’s briefly.

The first rays of sun began stretching across the lake, soft gold cutting through the fading dark. The surface of the water caught it slowly, like it was waking up too.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

They just sat there two racers in a illegally parked hypercar, eating fast food at sunrise like teenagers who had nowhere better to be.

The adrenaline had burned off.

What remained was quieter.

Warmer.

And somehow, even more dangerous.

“How old are you anyway?” the Brit asked between bites of cheeseburger, wiping his fingers on a napkin that was already losing the battle.

“Twenty-three.”

Hearing Lando’s sudden giggle, Oscar glanced at him, brows pulling together slightly. “Hm?”

“I’m older than you.”

There was something ridiculously satisfying in the way he said it, like he’d just won an invisible point.

The conversation flowed easily after that.

The heaviness from earlier thinned out, replaced by something lighter. They traded sibling stories — chaotic childhood arguments, protective older-brother moments. The Aussie talked about what it was like growing up with only sisters, while the other complained about being the middle child.

Oscar admitted to breaking a window with a cricket ball once; Lando confessed to crashing a scooter into a garden fence when he was eight.

They talked about pets, too. Oscar told him about Basil, and Lando admitted he’d always wanted a dog — but he didn’t want to put one through the constant travelling.

Oscar listened, actually listened — when Lando started rambling about photography. About chasing the perfect light, about how different cities feel through a lens, about how sometimes it was the only way he could slow his brain down.

“You see things differently when you’re not in them,” Lando explained, gesturing with a nugget like it was a prop. “It’s quiet. No noise. Just framing.”

Oscar nodded, eyes on him instead of the lake now. “Makes sense.”

And when Oscar talked about his road trips across the country — sleeping in the car, fixing things on the go, chasing mountain roads just because they looked good on a map Lando found himself leaning in the same way.

“You just… drive?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“No schedule?”

“No.”

“That’s insane.”

“It’s peaceful.”

Somehow, no matter how far they drifted, the conversation always circled back to racing. To cars. To engines and corners and the way different asphalt feels under different temperatures.

But never about Lando’s job.

Just two people bonding over the love they shared.

The sun climbed higher without either of them noticing at first. The lake shifted from gold to blue. The world started moving again in the distance.

Lando yawned once.

Then again.

Then a third time, longer and impossible to hide.

Oscar smirked faintly. “Bedtime?”

“Shut up,” Lando muttered, rubbing his eyes. “I’ve been kidnapped. That’s exhausting.”

“Voluntarily.”
“Details.”

Eventually, reality pressed in. Obligations. Normalcy. The fact that they couldn’t sit by a lake eating nuggets forever.

Oscar started the engine again and pulled back onto the road.

He drove through the city like he hadn’t been awake all night. Smooth. Precise. Calm. Navigating early traffic with ease, one hand on the wheel, the other resting loosely near the gear shifter.

Not a single thing about him gave away the hours behind them.

The drive back was quieter.

Not awkward.

Just… heavy.

Like both of them were aware that something had shifted and neither quite knew what to do with it.

Buildings grew more familiar. Streets more recognizable.

Oscar pulled up in front of the house and put the car in park. The engine idled softly for a moment before he turned it off.

Silence.

“You know,” the Aussie finally said, eyes still on the windshield, “I always thought you had no character. Whenever I saw you online.”

Lando tensed instantly.

That stung more than he expected.

He’d heard variations of that before — polished, media-trained, manufactured.

Safe.

He forced a small shrug. “Yeah?”

Oscar finally looked at him.

“But I was wrong.”

Lando’s fingers stilled on the empty milkshake cup in his lap.

“Under the polished surface,” Oscar continued, voice quieter now, “there’s an actual person.” A brief pause. “And I’m glad I got to know you.”

The tightness in Lando’s chest shifted into something else entirely.

Relief.

Warmth.

Something dangerously close to pride.

He looked at Oscar for a long second, sunlight catching in the windshield between them.

“Good,” Lando said softly. “I’m glad you were wrong.”

Daniel didn’t comment on the McLaren he very clearly saw pulling away from the curb.

Didn’t raise an eyebrow.

Didn’t ask why Lando smelled like petrol and fries at seven in the morning.

He just stepped aside, let him into the house, squeezed his shoulder once, and said, “Get some sleep.”

No interrogation. No lecture.

Just trust.

It didn’t mean he’d let it go.

Chapter Text

The first thing Lando noticed when he cracked his eyes open hours later was his old teammate sitting in the armchair by his bed, legs crossed, scrolling through his phone with an exaggerated look of boredom.

The curtains were half drawn. The room was quiet.

Too quiet.

“Danny, what the fuck are you doing here?” Lando groaned, immediately dragging the duvet over his head like it could shield him from accountability.

“Waiting for an explanation, duh.” Daniel didn’t even look offended. He locked his phone and stood, moving to sit on the edge of the bed. “I brought tea, so don’t complain.”

At the word tea, Lando reluctantly peeked out.

There it was. Mug. Steam long gone but still promising comfort.

He sighed and pushed himself upright, hair a mess, eyes still heavy. “You’re so annoying.”

“And yet,” Daniel said brightly, handing him the cup.

The first sip softened him instantly.

And then Daniel started asking questions.

Not aggressively. Not accusing.

Just curious.

So Lando told him.

About the ‘kidnapping’ About the wrecked Senna rebuilt from the ground up. About the illegal parking spot by the lake. About nuggets at sunrise.

He even admitted the part that had stuck with him most — the confession. The character comment.

The way it had landed.

The whole night had stripped him bare in a way he hadn’t expected. No cameras. No expectations. No performance. Just him.

And sitting there now, wrapped in blankets with Daniel’s familiar presence grounding him, it felt easier to say everything out loud.

Safer.

“And that’s it?” Daniel asked when he finished, eyebrows climbing toward his hairline.

“Yeah.” Lando stared into his cup, though the tea had long gone cold. He tried to hide the small, stupid ache in his chest behind it.

Daniel blinked at him.

“No kiss? Hug? Not even a handshake?”

Lando choked. “What?”

“I’m just clarifying!” Daniel defended himself, far too invested. “You two have emotional breakthrough at sunrise by a lake and then what? ‘Cool bro, see you never’?”

“It wasn’t like that,” Lando muttered.

“Did you get his number?”

Silence.

Daniel’s eyes widened.

“You didn’t.”

Lando pressed the mug harder to his lips to avoid answering.

“Oh my god,” Daniel breathed, scandalized. “You don’t have his number.”

“I was a bit preoccupied, okay?” Lando snapped, then groaned and flopped back against the headboard. “It was six in the morning. I hadn’t slept. He called me shallow and then un-shallow in the same breath. I wasn’t thinking about contact exchange etiquette.”

And yeah.

Lando knew he’d fucked up.

But he’d been so caught up in the moment — in the understanding, in the weight of everything that had been said that logistics hadn’t crossed his mind.

It hadn’t felt like the end.

It had felt like a pause.

Daniel leaned back against the wall, studying him.

“You like him,” he said finally.

Lando rolled his eyes immediately. “Don’t.”

“You do.”

“I barely know him.”

“But you want to.”

That shut him up.

Daniel smirked softly. “Relax. Mysterious garage genius with unresolved racing trauma? He’ll show up again.”

“You don’t know that.”

Daniel shrugged. “Guys like that don’t disappear. Especially not after sunrise nuggets and personality revelations.”

Lando tried and failed to fight the small smile tugging at his mouth.

He hoped Danny was right.

Lando tried to forget it.

Tried to move on with his life like nothing had shifted.

Training. Media bits. Friends. Packing. The usual rhythm slid back into place easily enough — but there was a quiet part of his brain that kept replaying sunrise over a lake and the way I’m glad I got to know you had sounded.

He didn’t want to leave it to fate.

So on his last night in Australia, he announced he was going to bed early because he had to wake up at an ungodly hour for his flight.

Responsible. Mature. Very believable.

Instead, he lay in the dark with his laptop open and went full FBI mode.

If Daniel had seen him, he would’ve never let him live it down.

He started simple.

Googled Oscar’s name.

Useless.

A few ancient karting results. Grainy photos of a teenager in oversized race suits. Some forum threads that hadn’t been active in years.

Nothing current. Nothing helpful.

Lando frowned at the screen.

He tried again.

Different combinations.

Different angles.

Tuned McLaren Senna Australia.

Nothing specific.

Street racing Melbourne.

That felt slightly unhinged to type, even for him.

Still nothing concrete.

He leaned back against the headboard, chewing the inside of his cheek. There had to be something. A trace. A footprint.

Nobody just rebuilt a hypercar and disappeared into thin air.

He went through Danny’s friends from the event. Clicked profiles. Scrolled tagged photos. Checked comments. Cross-referenced usernames like a man unraveling a conspiracy board.

Blind spot after blind spot.

Facebook. Desperate.

Twitter. Even more desperate.

It was like Oscar existed in real life and nowhere online.

Which, honestly, felt very on brand.

By this point it was past midnight, and Lando was dangerously close to admitting defeat when he opened TikTok out of sheer frustration.

Fine.

One last attempt.

He typed:

Piastri Melbourne

Simple.

Broad.

Effective.

Results flooded in.

Most of it was nonsense — edits, random clips, unrelated content. But then one profile caught his attention.

A girl. A bit younger. Dark hair in what Lando was ninety percent sure was called a wolf cut or something equally Gen Z.

But the thing was —

She looked like him.

Not identical. But similar enough that the resemblance made Lando sit up straighter. Same eyes. Same bone structure. Same slightly unimpressed resting expression.

Sibling.

He clicked the profile.

Scrolled.

Video after video. Trends. Dancing. Friends.

He almost gave up again.

Until he found it.

A video from a year ago.

Some silly dance trend. Bright lighting. Music too loud. She was grinning at the camera — and next to her, clearly dragged into frame against his will, was Oscar.

Arms stiff. Expression flat. Looking like he’d rather rebuild an engine than participate.

Lando actually laughed out loud.

There he was.

Real. Moving. Tangible.

And tagged.

Lando clicked the tag so fast he nearly dropped his phone.

Private account.

Of course.

But the username was there.

The profile picture was him — not polished, not staged. Just leaning against a car, sun in his eyes.

Lando stared at the screen for a long second.

It felt absurd.

All this effort. All this digging.

And it had taken a dancing TikTok to crack it.

He felt a ridiculous rush of victory bloom in his chest.

Like he’d just won the lottery.

Or found something that wasn’t meant to be found.

His thumb hovered over the follow button.

Heart beating way faster than it had any right to.

He smiled to himself in the dark.

“Got you,” he murmured quietly.

He clicked the follow button before he could overthink the move.

No dramatic pause. No countdown.

Just tap.

He’d switched to his burner account first — not the verified one with millions of followers and a blue tick screaming public figure. This one was quieter. Bare. A stupidly subtle username that, if Oscar paid attention, would make sense.

A private joke.

Obvious enough.

He hoped.

For a second he considered adding a message.

Hey. Sunrise nuggets guy here.

Too cringe.

You forgot to give me your number.

Too desperate.

He locked the phone before he could spiral any further and tossed it onto the bedside table.

Sleep. That’s what he needed.

Not overanalysis.

Not anxiety.

Definitely not refreshing TikTok at 1:47 a.m. like a teenager with a crush.

He forced himself to roll over and shut his eyes.

When he woke up, sunlight was already pushing through the curtains.

For half a second, he forgot.

Then it hit him.

Phone.

He reached for it immediately, trying to act casual even though there was absolutely no one there to witness it.

Unlocked it.

Notifications flooded the screen — airline reminder, Daniel sending a meme, group chat chaos.

But not what he was looking for.

He opened TikTok.

No follow back.

No message request.

Nothing.

The account still sat there, unchanged.

Follow request sent.

Pending.

Lando stared at it longer than he should have.

It hadn’t even been twelve hours. Oscar might not check often. He might not care. He might not have even seen it.

Still.

The lack of response felt louder than it should.

He dropped back against the pillow, exhaling slowly.

“Relax,” he muttered to himself.

He had a flight to catch. A season ahead. A life that didn’t revolve around whether a mysterious garage genius accepted his follow request.

And yet.

As he got up and started getting ready, brushing his teeth, packing the last of his things, his mind kept drifting back to a night drive in a engineering masterpiece of a car.

To sunrise.

To I’m glad I got to know you.

His phone stayed stubbornly silent.

Nothing the whole ride to the airport. No notification when he finally landed in Nice. Nothing in the days that followed.

It was fine.

Lando told himself he was fine.

He slipped back into routine like he always did. Early training sessions. Long runs along the coast. Meeting friends for padel. A couple off-season obligations — a photoshoot for new merch, sponsor bits, the usual smiling and posing.

He absolutely did not check the follow request every few hours.

That would be mental.

Completely unhinged behavior.

He was above that.

Somehow a week passed.

Lando was halfway through packing for the UK — clothes scattered everywhere, suitcase open and chaotic on the bed — when his phone lit up beside a pile of hoodies.

Notification: piastri accepted your follow request.

His heart kicked so hard it was almost embarrassing.

Calm. Be calm.

He stared at the screen like it might disappear if he moved too fast.

He didn’t open the app immediately. Just watched it.

Waiting.

One second.

Five.

Ten.

Nothing else came through.

No message.

Just the acceptance.

Lando dropped dramatically to the floor beside the bed and let out a frustrated, muffled whine into the carpet.

It was not fair.

That was worse than being ignored.

Acceptance without acknowledgment felt deliberate. Controlled. Very Oscar.

But Lando wouldn’t budge.

He couldn’t.

He’d made his move. The first move.

Now it was Oscar’s turn.

By the time he landed in Heathrow, he had analyzed every possible scenario.

Maybe Oscar didn’t want contact after all.

Maybe the night had meant less to him.

Maybe he’d accepted just to be polite.

Maybe he was drafting some carefully neutral message to let him down gently.

Maybe—

By the time Lando arrived at the McLaren Technology Centre, he’d convinced himself of something entirely different:

Oscar simply didn’t realize it was him.

The burner account had been too subtle.

Too clever.

Lando had accidentally gone full spy mode and outsmarted himself.

He pushed through the glass doors, suitcase rolling behind him, trying to ignore the way his chest tightened every time his phone vibrated — even though none of the vibrations were the one he wanted.

He told himself he didn’t care.

But the silence was getting louder.

He put himself inside the simulator instead.

Driving was safe.

Comforting.

Predictable.

Inside the cockpit, none of this existed — not Australia, not sunrise lakes, not unsend messages. Just steering input, braking points, tyre temperatures scrolling across a screen.

It was easier to forget when he had to focus on lap times and degradation curves.

Easier to quiet his brain when it had data to chew on.

Media pulled him out eventually. A few promotional videos with Pato — his teammate. They were fine. Professional. Smiling at the right moments. Throwing playful jabs that felt rehearsed enough to be safe.

They weren’t exactly friends, but they got along well enough that fans wouldn’t panic.

Still, it wasn’t Carlos.

Not even Daniel.

That effortless back-and-forth, the natural rhythm, the kind of chemistry that didn’t need editing it just wasn’t there.

For a split second, Lando wondered what it would be like if Oscar were in the other seat.

If that dry humor would translate across a garage.

If that quiet intensity would sharpen him or clash with him.

If they’d—

He cut the thought off immediately.

Ridiculous.

Focus. His brain was practically screaming it now. You have a championship to fight for.

Everything moved fast, like it always did in his world. Flights blurred into briefings. Simulator into engineering meetings. Media into recovery sessions.

And then he was in the car for real.

Bahrain wasn’t kind.

The heat wrapped around him like a punishment. Sun reflecting off the track, sweat pooling under layers of fireproof fabric. The kind of temperature that made every breath feel heavier.

But the car —

The car was flying.

It felt planted. Responsive. Alive beneath him.

On the first day, everything clicked.

Corners flowed into each other. The rear stayed obedient. The front bit exactly when he asked it to. He crossed the line and saw his name at the top of the timesheets.

Fastest.

He let himself believe it.

Just a little.

This could be it.

This could be the season.

The chance he’d been chasing since he was a kid.

But the second day—

The second day went to shit. Balance gone. Tyres falling off a cliff.

Set-up changes that made it worse instead of better.

From fastest to fourteenth.

Seeing his name that far down the board felt like a punch straight to the gut.

The helmet hid his expression, but it didn’t dull the frustration tightening in his chest.

One day you’re on top of the world.

The next you’re questioning everything.

His phone buzzed just as he dropped it onto the pillow after debrief.

He almost ignored it.

Almost.

Unknown notification preview.

Not unknown.

Him.

Lando frowned slightly and opened it.

You’re overheating the rates out of T10. Try a softer diff on the exit and ease the throttle earlier, you’re fighting it mid corner with nstead of setting it up. Might save the tyres three or four laps.

Lando just stared at the message.

Dumbfounded.

Because out of everything he’d imagined — a dry joke, a casual “hey,” maybe even nothing at all — he had not expected setup advice.

Not when he’d long lost hope of any contact from the younger.

Not when he’d convinced himself the follow meant nothing.

He swallowed, nerves rising sharp and sudden, and picked the phone back up from the pillow.

He read it again.

And again.

He wasn’t wrong.

That was where it started falling apart.

Before he could craft anything remotely reasonable in response, another message came through.

But you did a good job despite everything.

The words hit differently than the technical advice.

Softer.

Personal.

Lando exhaled slowly, thumb hovering over the keyboard.

So he had been watching.

Not just casually.

Close enough to notice diff behavior.

Close enough to see him fighting the car.

Close enough to know it wasn’t just “bad pace.”

A small, helpless smile pulled at his mouth.

Of course this was how Oscar chose to break the silence.

Not with feelings.

With data.

The last day of testing went slightly better.

Not brilliant. Not headline worthy.

Just… better.

The sharp edge of panic from day two had dulled. The balance felt manageable again, even if the outright pace wasn’t where he wanted it. What stung more was seeing his own teammate ahead on the sheets small margins, but enough.

The hope from the first day was long gone.

Reality had settled back in.

Championship fights weren’t built on one good session.

Still, Lando didn’t feel like his world was collapsing anymore.

If that had anything to do with a certain Aussie in his DMs, he’d never admit it out loud.

His phone buzzed while he was still half undressed, fireproof top hanging around his waist.

Any plans for last weeks of freedom?

The timestamp made him pause.

Sent hours ago probably when he’d still been strapped into the car.

He did the math automatically.

Middle of the night in Australia now.

He didn’t expect a response.

Still, he typed back, trying for casual.

Nah, just gonna chill at home.

Try to get used to the diet again.

Maybe l’ll fly a bit earlier to avoid the jet lag.

He tossed the phone onto the table and went to grab water.

It buzzed almost instantly.

He stopped mid-step.

Middle of the night, right.

So much for sleep schedules.

I’ll be around the week before the first race.

Lando’s pulse ticked up.

A pause.

Three dots appeared.

Disappeared.

Came back.

If you’d be bored.

There it was again.

That deliberate space.

Not asking.

Not pushing.

Just opening a door and stepping aside.

Lando stared at the message longer than necessary.

He could play it safe. Keep it vague. Pretend he hadn’t already considered changing flights.

Instead, he sat down slowly on the edge of the bed, phone warm in his hand.

He typed.

Deleted.

Typed again.

Left it.

He didn’t answer immediately this time.

Let Oscar sit with it a minute.

Let himself sit with it too.

Because this wasn’t adrenaline at a dock at two in the morning.

This was a choice.

Yeah, I’d like that.

He finally typed it out before he could talk himself out of it.

His hands were actually shaking.

Ridiculous.

It was just a message.

Just words on a screen.

Still, hitting send felt bigger than it should have.

A second one followed, because leaving it that open felt too exposed.

Let me know the details after you figure them out.

Safe.

Casual.

Reasonable.

He locked the phone immediately after, like it might explode in his hand.

No reply came.

No three dots.

No teasing comment.

Nothing.

And this time, neither of them messaged again.

It wasn’t dramatic.

There was no tension-filled back and forth.

Just quiet understanding settling between two people who had both said enough.

Lando lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

He’d done it.

Not impulsive. Not reckless.

Deliberate.

Whatever happened next wouldn’t be fate.

It would be planned.

And somehow, that made his chest feel lighter than it had in weeks.

On the plane back to Nice, Lando went full plan mode.

Notes app open. Bullet points. Sub-bullet points.

A packing list.

Which was deeply unlike him.

The world and especially the media knew him as polished, organised, perfectly media-trained. But in reality? Lando was chaos wrapped in good PR. He usually packed slowly before a season, grabbing things over a week, remembering last-minute essentials at midnight, throwing in extras “just in case.”

This time he didn’t have that luxury.

The tickets to Australia were already booked for a few days from now.

He was on a clock.

He made lists of clothes. Gym gear. Chargers. Passport copies. Camera equipment — he hesitated before adding that one, then typed it anyway.

He even drafted a vague message to the team explaining he’d be flying out early. It wasn’t their business what he did in his free time, but logistics mattered. He wouldn’t be on the usual group flight.

He kept it simple.

Jet lag management. Personal schedule. Training preference.

All technically true.

He kept himself busy on purpose. Structured. Productive. Efficient.

Because if he stopped moving, the nerves would creep in.

But there turned out to be no use for nerves.

Not the moment he stepped into arrivals and spotted him.

Oscar.

Leaning casually near one of the pillars, hands in the pockets of a hoodie, looking entirely unbothered by the early hour.

Waiting.

For him.

The anxiety that had been buzzing under Lando’s skin all week dissolved in an instant.

It wasn’t one-sided.

It wasn’t imaginary.

He was here.

Lando instinctively pulled his cap lower over his curls, adjusting his sunglasses even though he didn’t really need them, hoping nobody would pay too much attention as he made his way over.

Each step felt slower than it should.

Oscar noticed him halfway across the hall.

Didn’t wave.

Didn’t grin.

Just straightened slightly, eyes locked in.

Lando stopped in front of him, suddenly aware of how close they were. Of how different this felt from text bubbles and late-night messages.

“Hi,” he said, a shy smile tugging at his lips before he could hide it.

It felt softer than he meant it to.

Less composed.

More real.

Oscar’s eyes flicked up, the corners crinkling in that way that made Lando’s chest tighten. “Had a good flight?” he asked, already reaching for Lando’s luggage like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“I—yeah,” Lando said, his voice a little uneven. He swallowed, trying to ground himself. A one-night adventure had been one thing. Texting every night after had been another. But flying across continents to see someone he’d met once… that was a whole new level of mental. And yet, somehow, it felt undeniably right.

They walked side by side, the quiet between them charged, until they reached the parking lot. Lando’s eyes darted around, expecting to see the familiar glint of the Senna. But there was nothing. Instead, Oscar led him to a sleek grey car that looked understated, yet undeniably purposeful.

Lando’s lips curved into a teasing grin as he glanced at the car.

“Didn’t take you for an Audi guy.”

Oscar shrugged, leaning casually against the side of the vehicle like he had all the time in the world. “That’s my day car,” he said lightly. “Did you think I was driving the McLaren on normal roads?”

The heat crept into Lando’s cheeks at the gentle jab.

Because… well.

He kind of had.

Not seriously, maybe. But part of him had imagined Oscar pulling up in something ridiculous, loud and impossible to ignore. Something that matched the version of him Lando had built in his head during all those late-night messages.

The hypercar, though, was a different story entirely. Even Lando knew that. The thing was practically a beast — built for tracks, for impossible speeds and perfectly engineered chaos. Driving it on normal roads would probably get Oscar arrested within ten minutes.

Still.

“I guess…” Lando rubbed the back of his neck, glancing between Oscar and the car. “I just figured you’d want something flashy. Something… fast. Something that screams you.”

Oscar’s smirk softened at that. The teasing edge didn’t disappear, but something about his expression turned warmer.

“Fast is relative,” he said, his gaze drifting to Lando for a moment longer than necessary.

There was something thoughtful in the look, something that made Lando suddenly very aware of how close they were standing again.

“Besides,” Oscar continued, pushing himself off the car, “the night is when I let loose.”

He opened the passenger door and gestured inside.

“On the road…” he added, glancing over the roof of the car at Lando, “I like to keep it practical.”

Lando chuckled as he slid into the seat, the sound a little nervous but genuine.

“Practical,” he repeated. “Underrated, I think.”

The interior of the car smelled clean and faintly like new leather. Lando sank into the seat with a quiet sigh he hadn’t meant to let out.

Oscar walked around the front of the car and slid into the driver’s seat, starting the engine with easy familiarity before pulling them slowly out of the parking spot.

For a moment neither of them spoke.

The car rolled toward the exit of the airport parking lot, the late afternoon sun bleeding through the windshield.

Oscar glanced at him briefly.

“Do you want to rest a bit first?” he asked as they approached the exit barrier. “You had a long travel.”

Lando groaned quietly at the reminder.

“I’d kill for a nap,” he admitted, dragging a hand through his hair. “But it won’t be good for the jet lag.”

His sleep schedule was already a disaster and the season hadn’t even started yet.

He shifted slightly in the seat.

“But I definitely need a shower.”

Only then did the reality of the last twenty-four hours fully catch up to him.

The long flight.

The recycled airplane air.

The questionable airport coffee.

Lando winced slightly, suddenly very aware of how he probably looked.

“Right,” Oscar said easily as he merged onto the road outside the airport. “Where are you staying?”

And that’s when it hit him.

The thing he’d been vaguely aware of forgetting the entire flight.

Something important.

Something he’d brushed off as nerves or travel anxiety.

Oh no.

Lando froze.

Ok.

Don’t panic.

He told himself firmly.

You’ll figure something out.

Just… think.

The silence stretched for a second too long.

Then another.

Oscar glanced at him again, brows pulling together slightly.

“Lando?”

The Brit quickly pulled out his phone, trying to act like everything was completely normal while he opened his email.

Nothing.

No booking confirmation.

No reservation.

No forwarded details from the team.

Which… made sense.

Because the team usually handled hotels during race weeks.

And this wasn’t race week yet.

And Lando had told them he was flying out early on his own.

Meaning they probably assumed he had arranged something himself.

Except he hadn’t.

Oscar looked over again, concern slowly creeping into his expression “Lando? Everything alright?”

Lando stared at his phone screen for one more hopeless second before the words came spilling out.

“Iforgottobookahotel.”

Oscar blinked “What?”

Lando sank lower into the seat, wishing the upholstery would just swallow him whole “I forgot to book a hotel,” he admitted, voice small and painfully embarrassed.

Oscar stared at him for a beat.

Then another.

“You what?”

The shock lasted approximately one second before it cracked into laughter.

Real laughter.

Oscar actually leaned back in his seat slightly as he laughed, shaking his head.

“How did you forget that?”

Lando groaned, covering his face with one hand.

“I mean usually the team does it for me on race weeks,” he tried to defend himself, his cheeks burning again. “And I technically came here for a race— just earlier — and my brain didn’t catch that part and—”

He stopped when he noticed Oscar looking at him.

Still amused.

But also noticing the way Lando was starting to spiral.

“Okay,” Oscar said, cutting him off gently before the rambling could continue. “I get it.”

He took a turn at the next intersection, still chuckling under his breath.

Then he glanced back at Lando.

“Are you alright with going to mine while we figure it out?”

The offer came out casually, like it wasn’t a big deal at all.

Like inviting the guy you’d met once to your house was the most normal solution in the world.

Lando didn’t even hesitate.

“Yes, please.”

The relief in his voice was immediate.

And Oscar couldn’t quite stop the small smile that appeared on his face as he drove them further into the city.

Oscar’s apartment wasn’t much — a small one-bedroom flat tucked somewhere in the suburbs — but it felt warm the moment Lando stepped inside.

Lived in.

Comfortable.

The living room opened right from the hallway, the space simple but cozy. A bookshelf stood beside the TV, filled with a strange mix of manuals, novels, and what looked like a few racing magazines. A soft rug sat under the coffee table, slightly crooked like someone had nudged it out of place with their foot. A plant leaned lazily toward the balcony doors, catching the afternoon light spilling in through the glass.

It wasn’t flashy.

It wasn’t expensive.

But somehow it suited Oscar perfectly.

“I’m sorry for the mess,” Oscar said casually as he kicked off his shoes near the door. “I’m rarely home and didn’t have time to clean.”

Lando paused just inside the living room, glancing around again.

Mess?

There was a hoodie thrown over the back of the couch.

A single coffee mug sitting on the table.

That was it.

The place was otherwise spotless.

Lando blinked.

If this counted as messy in Oscar’s eyes, Lando was fairly certain he would need to hire an entire cleaning crew before ever letting him see his own place.

The thought came and went quickly.

He stopped himself almost immediately.

Okay.

That was… a little ahead of himself.

Oscar walked toward the hallway, glancing back over his shoulder.

“The clean towels are in the cabinet,” he said. “Help yourself to whatever you need.”

The offer came easily, like he was completely comfortable having Lando there.

Like this wasn’t strange at all.

Lando nodded quickly. “Thanks.”

By the time he stepped into the bathroom, the exhaustion of the trip had finally caught up with him.

The hot water was almost heavenly.

He stayed under the spray longer than he probably should have, letting the warmth loosen the stiffness in his shoulders, letting the entire day the airport, the flight, the nerves — wash away with the steam.

It felt good.

Really good.

He found himself lingering a moment when he noticed the shampoo bottles on the shelf.

One of them was specifically for curly hair.

Lando raised an eyebrow.

That was… interesting.

Suspicious, even.

He turned the bottle slightly in his hand before shrugging and using it anyway.

By the time he finally turned the water off, the bathroom mirror had completely fogged over.

He dried off slowly, feeling much more human than he had an hour ago.

And then—

He froze.

Because he had just realized something.

Something very obvious.

Something incredibly stupid.

Lando hadn’t brought any clean clothes into the bathroom with him.

“…Brilliant,” he muttered quietly to himself.

He stared down at the pile of clothes he’d worn for the last twenty-four hours.

The same shirt.

The same jeans.

All of it smelling faintly like airplane and exhaustion.

He grimaced.

Putting them back on sounded awful.

But walking out into Oscar’s apartment in nothing but a towel?

Absolutely not.

That somehow sounded even worse.

He hesitated, reaching reluctantly for his shirt.

And that’s when he noticed the dryer in the corner of the small laundry space of the bathroom.

Lando stepped over, curiosity winning over embarrassment.

Inside was a pile of clothes.

He pulled the door open a little more.

They looked clean.

Freshly washed.

He leaned closer and sniffed cautiously.

They smelled clean too.

He hesitated.

Taking someone else’s clothes without asking was… definitely pushing it.

Actually, no.

It was fully crossing another line.

Lando stared at the dryer for a long moment.

But at this point…

He had already flown across the world to visit a guy he’d met once.

He was currently standing half naked in said guy’s bathroom.

And said guy had just casually invited him to stay at his apartment.

So really.

How many boundaries were they already ignoring?

Lando sighed softly.

“…One more probably won’t kill me.”

When Lando finally stepped out of the bathroom, his hair was still damp, curls slightly darker from the water, and his heart was beating far quicker than it should have been for something as simple as walking down a hallway.

Oscar’s clothes hung loosely on him.

The grey sweats sat low on his hips, clearly meant for someone a bit taller, and the black t-shirt slipped off one shoulder every time he moved. The sleeves nearly reached his elbows.

It made something very obvious.

Lando was smaller than Oscar.

Not by a lot.

But enough.

And Lando became painfully aware of that fact as he stepped into the kitchen doorway and saw Oscar standing by the stove.

For a moment, he just… looked.

Oscar hadn’t noticed him yet, focused on whatever he was heating in a pan. The soft yellow light from the kitchen lamp caught the outline of his shoulders, broad under the dark t-shirt he was wearing. His arms were bare, muscles shifting naturally as he moved the spatula through the pan.

Not overly bulky.

But strong.

The kind of strength that came from doing things with your hands.

Working on cars, probably.

Maybe the gym too.

Lando’s eyes trailed upward for a moment.

Oscar was taller than him by a few inches, he realized again — something that was easier to notice now that they were standing in the same room rather than through a phone screen or sitting in a car.

And then there was the skin.

Pale.

Almost unfairly pale for someone who lived in Australia.

Against Lando’s natural tan it looked a little ridiculous, actually.

The contrast made Lando fight the sudden urge to laugh.

He cleared his throat instead.

The sound came out awkwardly loud in the quiet apartment.

Oscar turned around immediately.

And then stopped.

One eyebrow slowly lifted.

His eyes moved from Lando’s damp hair…

To the oversized shirt.

To the sweats.

And back up again.

Lando felt the heat rush to his face instantly.

“I forgot to take clean clothes with me,” he blurted out quickly.

Oscar said nothing.

Which somehow made it worse.

“I mean to the bathroom!” Lando added immediately, words tumbling out faster. “Not in general! I do have my own clothes, I swear.”

The corner of Oscar’s mouth twitched.

“Good to know.”

Lando opened his mouth again, but Oscar just chuckled softly and shook his head.

“It’s fine, Lan,” he said easily. “I don’t mind.”

The nickname slipped out so naturally it almost made Lando pause.

Oscar turned back to the stove like the situation was completely normal.

“I heated some leftovers if you’re hungry,” he added. “Nothing fancy though.”

Lando blinked.

“You cooked?”

Oscar glanced back at him, amused.

Lando’s eyes had actually lit up.

And it made Oscar laugh under his breath.

“I mean… I usually meal prep for the week,” he said, giving a small shrug. “Then just heat things up when I need them. At least I try to.”

“That’s impressive,” Lando admitted honestly as he stepped a little further into the kitchen.

The smell coming from the pan made his stomach react immediately.

Right.

He hadn’t eaten real food in… way too long.

Oscar grabbed two plates from the counter and started dividing the food between them.

“You want to eat at the table,” he asked casually, “or on the couch?”

Lando didn’t even hesitate.

“The couch please.”

Oscar snorted quietly.

“Of course.”

He handed Lando one of the plates as they walked toward the living room together.

Lando dropped onto the couch almost immediately, pulling one leg underneath himself as he settled in. The oversized sweats bunched around his ankles and the shirt slipped slightly off his shoulder again.

Oscar noticed.

He didn’t comment.

But his eyes lingered for half a second longer than necessary before he sat down on the other side of the couch.

“What do you want to watch?” he asked, grabbing the remote from the table.

Lando poked at the food with his fork before taking a bite.

His eyes widened a little.

“Okay wait,” he said through a mouthful. “This is actually really good.”

Oscar glanced sideways at him.

“You sound surprised.”

“I am.”

Oscar leaned back against the couch.

“Wow. Rude.”

Lando grinned.

“I just didn’t picture you cooking.”

“And what exactly did you picture me doing?” Oscar asked, one eyebrow lifting again.

Lando thought about it for a second.

“…Speeding.”

Oscar laughed.

And for the first time since landing in Australia, the tight nervous knot in Lando’s chest loosened just a little.

After that, it became… easy.

The TV was technically on, some show running quietly in the background, but neither of them was actually watching it. The volume stayed low, forgotten the moment the conversation started flowing.

They moved from topic to topic without really noticing how.

Lando learned very quickly that Oscar was surprisingly easy to talk to. He didn’t interrupt, didn’t rush to fill silences, but when he did speak it was thoughtful, dry, often just a little teasing.

At some point Lando remembered the shampoo.

He lifted a curl between two fingers thoughtfully.

“Okay, serious question.”

Oscar glanced over from where he was sitting sideways on the couch.

“That sounds dangerous.”

“The shampoo in your shower,” Lando said. “For curly hair.”

Oscar blinked once.

Then he huffed out a quiet laugh.

“Oh. That.”

“Yes that,” Lando said, pointing at his hair. “You don’t even have curly hair.”

Oscar ran a hand through the strands absently.

“It’s a gift.”

“From?”

“My sister,” he answered. “She’s convinced my hair is secretly curly and I’ve just been treating it wrong my whole life.”

Lando laughed.

“That’s sibling logic.”

“I told her it’s wavy at best,” Oscar continued, shrugging. “But she said the shampoo would ‘unlock its true potential.’”

Lando leaned back against the couch cushions, still smiling.

“That’s nothing,” he said. “One time Max put hair dye in my shampoo.”

Oscar turned his head slowly.

“…What?”

“Pink,” Lando said proudly. “Bright pink.”

Oscar stared at him for a moment before a surprised laugh escaped him.

“You’re joking.”

“I wish I was.”

“How long?”

“A few days,” Lando admitted. “Thankfully it wasn’t permanent.”

Oscar shook his head, still smiling to himself.

“That’s brutal.”

“It was expensive shampoo too,” Lando added, offended on principle.

That only made Oscar laugh harder.

Somewhere along the way their plates were cleared away and replaced with mugs of tea. Neither of them remembered exactly when it happened.

Outside, the late afternoon sun had begun to sink lower, warm orange light spilling across the living room floor and catching in the leaves of the plant by the balcony doors.

Lando shifted deeper into the couch, his body finally beginning to relax after the long flight. His head tilted back against the cushions as he let his eyes wander around the apartment again.

The place wasn’t big.

But it felt… real.

It didn’t feel staged.

It felt lived in.

“Your flat is cosy,” Lando said after a moment, his voice quieter now. “I like it here.”

Oscar looked up from his mug.

The compliment caught him slightly off guard.

“It’s not much,” he said with a small shrug. “But it’s mine. That counts for something.”

There was a shy sort of pride in the smile that followed.

Lando turned his head toward him fully.

“You own it?”

Oscar nodded like that fact was completely unremarkable.

Which, to Lando, made it even more remarkable.

Most people their age were renting tiny apartments or sharing with roommates. Owning a place outright at twenty-three wasn’t exactly common.

Curiosity got the better of him before he could stop himself.

“What do you do for a living?” Lando asked before he could stop himself.

The question slipped out too fast.

He winced immediately.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” he added quickly. “I totally get it if you don’t want to share.”

Oscar watched him spiral for about three seconds.

Then he chuckled softly.

“Lan.”

There it was again.

Not Lando.

Lan.

The nickname settled strangely warm in his chest.

“It’s alright,” Oscar said.

Lando quieted.

“I own my own car shop.”

For a moment Lando just blinked.

That made sense.

Actually… it made perfect sense.

Everything about Oscar screamed cars — the way he talked about engines, the ease with which he handled machines that would intimidate most people.

But owning a shop?

At twenty-three?

“Nothing huge,” Oscar continued, clearly aware that Lando was mentally recalculating things. “Small business. But it lets me live comfortably.”

Lando glanced around the apartment again.

The place.

The Audi outside.

The Senna.

Comfortably was one way to describe it.

“If owning a flat, a hypercar and a ‘day car’ counts as comfortable,” Lando said.

Oscar laughed.

“Yeah, alright. Maybe better than most people my age.”

Lando frowned slightly.

“You’re twenty-three?”

Oscar nodded.

Lando blinked again.

“Oh.”

Oscar tilted his head.

“What?”

“I think I just said that out loud.”

“You did.”

Lando rubbed his face. He definitely needs to go to sleep soon.

Oscar just shook his head, amused.

Then he leaned back slightly, settling deeper into the couch as if the story he was about to tell was an old one.

“I worked full time at a car shop through college,” he began. “Part time as a barista too.”

Lando turned toward him more fully now, listening.

“I bought the Senna during my second year,” Oscar continued.

Lando nearly choked on his tea.

“You what?”

Oscar smiled faintly.

“Technically I didn’t buy it then,” he clarified. “A family friend owned it. We made a deal — I’d pay for it when I could.”

“That’s insane,” Lando said quietly.

Oscar shrugged.

“My boss at the shop let me work on it there. So I did.”

He looked down at his hands for a moment as if remembering it.

“I spent every spare second on that car. Between clients. On weekends. Sometimes at night between shifts and classes.”

Lando could picture it.

The garage lights.

Grease on Oscar’s hands.

Music playing somewhere in the background while he rebuilt a machine that most people would be too scared to even touch.

“That’s impressive,” Lando said honestly.

Oscar gave a small smile.

“People at the shop thought so too.”

He paused, glancing toward the window where the sky had turned darker.

“I was studying engineering,” he continued. “Graduated last year.”

Lando’s eyebrows lifted slightly.

“And word got around campus,” Oscar said. “About the car.”

His voice carried a soft nostalgia now.

Like he was remembering a lifetime ago instead of just a couple years.

“I thought I’d get in trouble,” he admitted. “Because technically a lot of what I did to that car wasn’t exactly… legal.”

Lando snorted.

“Shocking.”

Oscar ignored that.

“But instead,” he continued, “some of the professors sent people my way.”

“People?”

“Clients.”

Lando blinked.

“Luxury cars mostly,” Oscar explained. “Stuff other mechanics didn’t want to touch.”

He shrugged again, like the whole thing had simply happened rather than being the result of years of work.

“It snowballed from there.”

Lando stared at him, genuinely impressed now.

The room had grown dimmer now, the last of the sunlight fading from the windows.

“I opened my own shop within a year,” Oscar finished quietly.

No pride.

No bragging.

Just a fact.

“I’m still paying this place off,” he added, glancing around the apartment again. “But it’s alright.”

The room fell quiet for a moment.

Lando looked at him differently now.

Not just the street racer.

Not just the mysterious guy he meet in Perth.

But someone who had built something real with his own hands.

And somehow that made Oscar even more interesting than before.

Lando sat there for a moment after Oscar finished speaking, quietly turning the story over in his head.

The apartment suddenly made more sense now. The quiet suburbs. The practical car outside. Even the way Oscar carried himself — confident but never flashy about it.

Still, something didn’t quite add up.

“What about the trips you told me about?” Lando asked after a moment, curiosity creeping back in. He shifted slightly on the couch, turning toward Oscar. “All the races around the country?”

Oscar rubbed the back of his neck, looking a little sheepish now.

“Well…” he started slowly, glancing down at his mug. “I have two guys working at the shop full time.”

He paused like he wasn’t sure how impressive that actually sounded.

“I mostly take the major projects now and then.”

Lando blinked.

For a second he didn’t say anything, just stared at him.

Two employees.

Major projects.

The way Oscar said it so casually made it sound like it wasn’t a big deal at all, like he was just helping out at someone else’s garage instead of running the place himself.

“Wait,” Lando said, leaning forward slightly. “So you’re like… the boss?”

Oscar immediately turned a little red, which was possibly the funniest reaction Lando could have imagined.

“I mean—” he started, clearly uncomfortable with the word.

Lando grinned.

“Oh my god, you are.”

Oscar huffed quietly, looking away.

“I still take more work than I need to,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. “Mostly to help my family out.”

That caught Lando’s attention immediately.

Oscar looked almost embarrassed saying it, like he expected to be judged for it.

“Not that my mum needs help,” he added quickly. “She earns enough on her own.”

His fingers tapped lightly against the ceramic mug in his hands as he continued.

“But…” he hesitated, then smiled faintly to himself.

“I like to spoil my sisters, you know?”

The softness in his voice when he said that made something shift in Lando’s chest.

For a moment he didn’t answer.

He just watched Oscar.

The street racer.

The guy who drove an illegally modified hypercar across the country in underground races.

And also the same person who worked extra hours so he could buy things for his younger sisters.

It didn’t quite fit the image people would probably expect.

Lando understood it, in a way.

He had siblings too. He loved them more than anything. If they needed something, he would give it to them without thinking.

But at the same time… it was different.

Lando had grown up in a world where money was never really something you worried about. His family had always been comfortable, always secure. Success hadn’t been about survival or responsibility.

It had been about ambition.

About racing.

Oscar’s life sounded… built.

Piece by piece.

“That’s—” Lando started.

Oscar beat him to it.

“Lame?” he offered dryly, glancing sideways at him. “Not what you expected from my reputation?”

There was humor in his voice, but something else too. Something cautious.

Like he had heard that reaction before.

Like people expected the reckless street racer but got disappointed when they saw the rest of him.

Lando frowned immediately.

“Amazing,” he said.

Oscar looked at him, surprised.

“You’re amazing.”

The words came out before Lando could overthink them.

For a second Oscar didn’t respond.

He just stared at him, clearly not expecting that answer.

When Lando first woke up, he didn’t open his eyes.

He was warm, comfortable in that heavy, satisfying way that only came after real sleep. The kind where your body finally stops fighting exhaustion and just shuts down completely. For a few quiet moments he stayed exactly where he was, half buried in the pillows, enjoying the rare feeling of actually being rested.

Which in itself was unusual enough.

But slowly, as his mind began catching up with his body, small details started to feel… off.

Not wrong.

Just unfamiliar.

The sheets didn’t smell like his laundry detergent, nor the strange, sterile chemical scent hotel bedding always seemed to have. These smelled softer somehow — like normal soap and fabric softener, something warmer and more personal. The room wasn’t pitch black either. Even with his eyes closed he could sense the faint glow of daylight pressing through the curtains. And somewhere in the distance there was the quiet sound of something moving. Clinking. Cupboards opening and closing. Kitchen noises.

For a moment he just lay there, letting the pieces fall into place.

And then it hit him.

Right.

Australia.

Oscar.

Lando’s eyes opened slowly.

The ceiling above him definitely wasn’t his. The room around him was unfamiliar in a quiet, understated way — simple furniture, soft morning light creeping through the curtains, the bed comfortable but clearly not his own.

Oscar’s bedroom.

He pushed himself up slowly, running a hand through his hair as the memories of the night before settled properly into his mind. The conversation on the couch. Tea mugs replacing dinner plates. The long hours talking about everything and nothing.

Apparently falling asleep halfway through it.

He winced slightly.

Great.

Swinging his legs off the bed, he glanced down at himself. He was still wearing the clothes he’d borrowed the day before — Oscar’s t-shirt and sweatpants that were just a little too big for him. The sleeves of the shirt nearly reached his elbows and the waistband of the sweats sat lower on his hips than they probably should have. They still smelled faintly like clean laundry.

Lando stepped quietly out of the bedroom, resisting the urge to look around too much. It felt oddly intrusive to start inspecting Oscar’s space first thing in the morning, especially when the apartment was so quiet except for the sounds coming from the kitchen.

Following the noise down the hallway, he stepped into the living room and then toward the kitchen entrance.

Oscar stood by the stove, focused on the pan in front of him. The morning light coming through the window behind him lit the kitchen in soft gold, catching the edges of the counter and the steam rising faintly from the pan.

He turned when he heard Lando step in.

“Morning, sleepy.”

The smile that appeared on his face was easy and genuine, like he’d been expecting him.

“I’m making scrambled eggs,” he said. “You want tea or coffee?”

Lando hesitated for a moment, still half waking up, the scene in front of him feeling oddly surreal. Yesterday he’d been on a plane for nearly a full day, nervous about seeing Oscar again. Now he was standing barefoot in the guy’s kitchen while breakfast was being made like this was completely normal.

“Tea please?” he said finally.

Oscar’s mouth curved into a grin.

“So British of you.”

He nodded toward the small dining table tucked into the corner.

“Go sit. I’m almost done.”

Lando obeyed, settling into one of the chairs and resting his arms on the table. From there he watched Oscar move easily around the kitchen, grabbing plates and mugs with the familiarity of someone who had repeated this routine many times before.

The quiet domesticity of it all was strangely calming.

After a minute, Lando cleared his throat.

“So…” he started.

Oscar glanced up briefly.

“How exactly did I end up in your bed?”

Oscar paused.

Then he looked at him with an expression that quickly shifted into something amused.

A smirk appeared.

“We haven’t done anything,” he said calmly, “if that’s what you’re asking.”

The heat rushed straight to Lando’s face.

“That’s not what I meant,” he said quickly.

The reaction only seemed to entertain Oscar more.

“You literally fell asleep on me last night,” he explained, bringing two plates to the table and placing one in front of Lando along with a mug of steaming tea. “Didn’t have the heart to wake you up and kick you out to go look for a hotel.”

Oscar sat down across from him with his own plate and a mug of black coffee.

It should have been awkward.

It probably would have been with anyone else.

But after the first few seconds the embarrassment faded quickly. Oscar behaved like nothing about this situation was strange at all, like Lando sitting there in borrowed clothes eating breakfast across from him was simply how the morning was meant to go.

“You carried me to your bed?” Lando asked, still sounding a little disbelieving.

Oscar shrugged, taking a sip of his coffee.

“Couldn’t exactly leave you on the couch,” he said. “It’s not that comfortable.”

Lando was quiet for a moment after that.

He stared down at his plate, turning Oscar’s words over in his head, feeling something settle strangely in his chest. The image of it played out too clearly in his mind — Oscar lifting him from the couch, carrying him down the hallway, tucking him into his own bed instead of just leaving him there.

It was… absurdly wholesome.

More thoughtful than Lando expected from someone whose reputation, at least in Lando’s mind, revolved around illegal street races and dangerously fast cars.

“You really didn’t need to struggle like that,” he said after a moment, finally finding his voice again. “I’d have been fine.”

Oscar looked up from his coffee and shrugged like the whole thing truly wasn’t worth mentioning.

“It’s fine, Lan,” he said easily. “You’re lighter than you look.”

The corner of his mouth lifted slightly.

“Besides, we can’t injure you this close to the race. You need proper rest.”

That left Lando completely speechless.

He just blinked at him, unsure what to say to that. The casual way Oscar said it, the matter-of-fact tone, like taking care of him was simply common sense.

The conversation faded there, both of them returning to their food. The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable though. It felt easy, filled only by the soft clink of cutlery and the quiet hum of the morning outside the apartment.

When they finished eating, Oscar stood first, gathering his plate and mug before stretching slightly.

“I’m going to take a shower,” he said, already heading toward the hallway.

Lando nodded, watching him disappear down the corridor.

For a moment he remained seated, looking at the empty plates on the table. A small pang of guilt nudged at him Oscar had picked him up from the airport, fed him dinner, let him sleep in his bed, cooked breakfast…

It felt wrong to just sit there like a guest being waited on.

So he stood, gathered the dishes and carried them to the sink.

Washing them felt strangely grounding. The simple task, the quiet running water, the faint sounds of the shower starting down the hallway. It made him realize just how unusual this whole situation was. He had known Oscar in person for barely more than a day, yet somehow the apartment didn’t feel unfamiliar anymore.

More than that, he hadn’t felt unwelcome even once.

If anything, Oscar had made it very clear that Lando being there wasn’t a burden.

Once the dishes were done, Lando headed to the bathroom himself. The quick shower helped shake off the last traces of sleep and travel fatigue. By the time he stepped out again and pulled on his own clothes — finally back in something that actually belonged to him — he felt far more like himself.

When he returned to the living room, Oscar was already there.

He sat on the couch with his phone in his hands, typing something with quiet focus. Lando dropped down beside him, the cushions dipping slightly under the added weight.

Oscar glanced at him briefly but didn’t stop typing.

“You were in Melbourne before, right?” he asked.

Lando frowned slightly.

“I mean… we race here every year,” he said. “So obviously.”

Oscar’s thumbs paused on the screen. He locked the phone and set it down on the coffee table before turning toward him fully.

“Did you ever go sightseeing here?”

The question made Lando hesitate.

He thought about it for a moment, mentally replaying the trips he’d taken to Australia over the years. Most of them blurred together in his memory — airports, hotels, the track, interviews, meetings, the race itself.

There was rarely time for anything else.

“I went to the Royal Botanic Gardens once,” he said slowly. “And the National Gallery.”

He shrugged.

“But I’m not really the tourist type, I think.”

Oscar hummed thoughtfully, leaning back into the couch cushions. After a moment he picked his phone up again, typed something quickly, then set it down once more.

“You still didn’t get a hotel?”

The question made Lando stiffen slightly.

Heat crept back into his face almost instantly.

It wasn’t like he had forgotten about that problem.

He’d just… been avoiding it.

Putting off the moment he would have to pack his things and leave this apartment.

Not that he would ever admit that out loud.

“No,” he admitted. “But I’ll look right now.”

He pulled his phone from his pocket and unlocked it, already opening his browser. Hilton was the safest option — his team had contracts with them during race weekends, and it would look strange if he suddenly showed up somewhere else.

He barely had time to load the page before Oscar’s hand reached over and gently took the phone from him.

Lando blinked in surprise.

“Have you ever been to Sydney?” Oscar asked casually.

The sudden change of topic threw him off completely.

“N-no?”

Oscar tilted his head slightly, amused.

“Are you asking me?”

Lando frowned.

“No. I haven’t,” he said, still confused. “Why?”

Oscar leaned back against the couch, studying him for a moment.

“When do you need to be at the track?” he asked. “With your team?”

Lando made a small, confused face at the question.

Ideally, he should have been meeting the team on Wednesday. That was usually how it went — arrive early, settle in, go through meetings, simulator notes, briefings. Give himself a day before the real chaos of a race weekend started.

But technically… he didn’t have to.

If he really wanted, he could push it to Thursday. Media day was the absolute latest he could get away with before people started asking questions.

So after a moment of mental calculation, he answered, “Thursday.”

Oscar nodded slightly, like he’d expected something along those lines. Without another word he placed Lando’s phone on the coffee table next to his own and leaned forward, resting his chin lightly against his fist.

He looked thoughtful.

Lando watched him for a few seconds, increasingly confused. Oscar seemed to be considering something seriously, his eyes fixed somewhere on the floor in front of him.

Then he looked up.

“Would you like to go to Sydney with me?”

For a second the question didn’t fully register.

It felt completely random.

Completely out of nowhere.

And yet somehow it made perfect sense at the same time.

“Yeah,” Lando said immediately.

The answer slipped out before his brain had time to catch up with his mouth.

Oscar blinked, clearly amused by the speed of that response.

“Yeah?” he repeated, a small laugh escaping him.

Now that his brain had caught up, Lando sat up straighter, already reaching toward the coffee table for his phone again.

“Yeah, I can look for plane tickets right now,” he said quickly, excitement beginning to creep into his voice. “It’s not far, right? The flight can’t be that long. We just need to find one that gets me back here before Thursday and—”

“What about a road trip, Lan?”

Oscar’s voice cut gently through the rambling.

Lando paused mid-sentence.

“A road trip?” he repeated, blinking at him.

Oscar leaned back against the couch again, the corner of his mouth curving into a soft smile.

“Yeah,” he said. “With a car.”

He chuckled quietly at Lando’s expression.

“We could drive there. Stop along the way, see a few places.”

The idea seemed so simple the way he said it.

But to Lando it sounded… almost unreal.

He frowned slightly, thinking about it.

“I’ve never been on a road trip,” he admitted.

Oscar tilted his head.

“Seriously?”

Lando shrugged a little helplessly.

His life had always been planes, airports, schedules, race tracks. Getting from one place to another as quickly as possible. There had never really been room for slow travel, for wandering without a strict plan.

Oscar watched him for a moment, that same soft smile still on his face.

“Would you like to go?” he asked.

Lando didn’t answer right away.

He didn’t really need to.

The grin spreading across his face already said everything.

Chapter Text

Oscar had apparently planned the whole thing in his head long before he’d mentioned it out loud.

He explained the route to Lando while they packed, leaning casually against the kitchen counter with the quiet confidence of someone who had already pictured every mile of the trip.

They’d leave now early enough to avoid the worst of the Friday afternoon traffic—  head straight down to Wilsons Prom. They’d stay the night there, then drive out to Eden the next day and spend another night. On Sunday they’d make their way up to Sydney. After that, they’d loop back through a few other places before finally rolling into Melbourne sometime Wednesday. The schedule was tight but doable.

It sounded… ambitious.

But also exciting.

Lando tried not to overthink it.

He packed light—just the essentials. If he forgot something, he could always buy it on the way. Or borrow it from Oscar.

The thought made something warm settle in his chest.

He threw a few clothes in a bag, toiletries, spare clothes… and his camera. Just in case. If they stopped somewhere pretty—or interesting—he didn’t want to miss it.

Still, as he zipped his bag closed, the thought hit him how completely mental the whole thing was. Leaving the rest of his luggage behind at Oscar’s flat. Taking off on a multi-day road trip with him with almost no planning on his own part.

And yet…

Being around Oscar felt like the most natural thing Lando had ever done.

Easier than driving.

Easier than breathing.

They chose the Audi for the trip. As much as the Senna was Oscar’s pride and joy, it wasn’t exactly built for comfort over long distances.

First stop was a grocery store where they loaded up on snacks and drinks for the drive—chips, chocolate, energy drinks, bottled water, and a few things Oscar insisted were “road trip essentials.”

Then they hit the highway.

“Oh, this is nice,” Oscar sighed, leaning back slightly into the driver’s seat as the car settled into the steady rhythm of the road.

Lando looked up from the open bag of chips in his lap.

He probably shouldn’t be eating them—Jon would absolutely lose his mind if he saw the amount of snacks Lando had bought—but he decided he’d allow himself a few more days of food freedom.

Just for the trip.

“Aren’t you, like, on the road all the time?” Lando asked.

He turned his head to look at Oscar.

The Australian looked absurdly relaxed. One hand rested loosely on the steering wheel while the other sat on his lap. His sunglasses were perched on his nose, and the wind from the slightly open window had pushed his hair into soft disarray.

He looked effortlessly cool.

Effortlessly handsome.

In Lando’s opinion, Oscar could easily be a model if he wanted to. Pale skin, sharp jawline, and those little moles scattered across his face and neck like constellations.

“Yeah,” Oscar replied, glancing briefly toward him before returning his focus to the road. “But

almost never in this car.”

“Why?”

“I usually drive around the country for races,” Oscar said. “And for that I need the Senna.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” Oscar chuckled quietly. “It’s not half as comfortable as this.”

Without asking, he reached over and grabbed a handful of chips from the bag resting on Lando’s lap.

Lando laughed.

“Yeah, tell me about it.”

For a moment the car filled only with music and the soft hum of tires against asphalt.

“It’s nice to slow down a bit for a change,” Oscar said after a while.

Lando wasn’t sure if he meant himself.

Or Lando.

Or maybe both of them.

But he nodded anyway.

Because yes… it was nice.

Nice to be in a car without rushing somewhere. Nice to not have a timer running in the background of his brain.

Nice to just exist.

Being the passenger was nice too.

Eventually Lando claimed the Bluetooth speaker with great confidence, declaring himself an excellent DJ who would provide the perfect soundtrack for their road trip.

In reality, the playlist turned into a chaotic mix of everything he liked—country songs, pop hits, random club music, a few old throwbacks.

If Oscar had any objections, he didn’t voice them.

Every now and then he suggested a song, but mostly he just let Lando take over.

Their first stop came a little past halfway through the drive.

The tank didn’t really need filling yet, but Lando had been whining about needing the bathroom for the past fifteen minutes.

He hurried inside the gas station, took care of business, washed his hands quickly, and jogged back outside toward the car.

Except…

Oscar wasn’t there.

The Audi sat alone in the parking spot, gleaming under the afternoon sun.

Lando leaned against it and waited.

They were just outside a small town they’d passed a few minutes earlier. Back there the streets had been lively—people walking around, shops open, cars moving through intersections—but out here things were quiet.

The sun hung high in the sky.

A light breeze rustled through the nearby trees and the tall grass that stretched out beside the road.

It felt… peaceful.

Then something moved.

Lando squinted toward the grass.

A shape shifted between the tall stalks grey, tall ears flicking above the green.

A kangaroo.

He froze.

For a moment he simply stared, dumbfounded.

He had never seen a wild animal like that before. Not properly. Maybe in a zoo once when he was younger, but that felt completely different.

This one was just… there.

Living.

Moving.

Real.

Slowly,carefully—Lando opened the trunk of the Audi. As if any sudden sound might scare the animal away even though it was still a good distance off.

He pulled out his camera.

Of course, the moment mattered too much for him to just take the picture.

Instead he spent way too long adjusting the lens, fiddling with settings, checking the focus. His hands moved quickly but his brain kept screaming that the kangaroo would disappear before he finished.

Luckily, it didn’t.

The animal stood in the grass, occasionally flicking its ears or shifting its weight.

Lando lifted the camera and snapped a few photos.

Click.

Click.

Click.

Encouraged, he took a few careful steps away from the car, raising the camera again to capture another angle.

“Lan.”

Oscar’s voice came from behind him.

“Shhh, Osc,” Lando whispered sharply without turning around, still peering through the camera lens. “You’ll spook it.”

His finger hovered over the shutter as he adjusted the focus again, shoulders slightly hunched with concentration.

Oscar slowed his steps behind him, confused but curious.

“What?” he asked quietly, trying to see past Lando toward whatever had caught his attention.

“There’s a kangaroo!” Lando whisper–screamed, his voice still hushed but bursting with excitement as he snapped a few more photos.

Click.

Click.

He shifted slightly to the side, angling the camera again.

The light was perfect now the sun high but soft enough that it hit the animal just right, outlining its tall ears and grey fur in a warm glow against the grass.

Lando barely breathed as he took another picture.

Click.

Oscar leaned a little closer, finally spotting the animal in the tall grass a short distance away. It stood still, ears twitching occasionally, watching them with mild curiosity.

“Just don’t go closer,” Oscar said calmly. “It’s a male. Might be aggressive.”

Lando didn’t answer immediately. He took two more photos, adjusting the lens again, before finally lowering the camera and straightening his back.

He began scrolling through the photos on the screen, examining them carefully to see if he liked them or if he should take a few more while the kangaroo was still there.

“It’s fine,” Lando said dismissively after a moment. “It’s literally twenty feet away.”

“Feet?” Oscar chuckled from beside him.

Lando paused, then glanced up briefly.

“Yeah,” he said, gesturing vaguely toward the grass. “So like… about six metres. Why?”

Oscar just shook his head slightly, amusement clear on his face.

“Nothing,” he said. “It’s just really American to use feet on a daily basis like that.”

That made Lando finally look up from his camera.

Oscar was standing next to him now with his arms crossed loosely over his chest, looking far too entertained by the whole situation.

Lando gasped dramatically.

“Don’t insult me like that!”

The kangaroo was completely forgotten now.

“I am British,” Lando continued, pointing at himself with exaggerated offense, “and I use both. It just makes me intelligenter.”

“More intelligent?” Oscar repeated slowly, lifting one eyebrow.

Lando frowned at him.

“You know what I mean.”

Oscar’s lips twitched as if he was trying not to laugh.

Lando huffed, rolling his eyes as he looked back down at the camera, pretending to review the photos again.

“Whatever,” he muttered after a moment. Then he turned and started walking back toward the car, camera still in hand.

“Get in the car.”

Lando stayed annoyed for a whole ten minutes.

Not loudly annoyed he wasn’t complaining or arguing anymore but in the quiet, sulky way where he leaned his head against the window, stared out at the passing landscape, and pretended Oscar didn’t exist.

The playlist kept playing in the background, the road stretching endlessly ahead of them while fields and small patches of forest rolled past outside.

Oscar let him have his moment.

Eventually, after another few miles of peaceful silence, Oscar leaned over slightly and opened the glove box.

Inside was a whole box of Kinder chocolates.

Lando immediately turned his head.

That hadn’t been there before.

He was sure of it.

He had absolutely snooped through the glove box earlier—with Oscar’s permission, of course and it had been completely empty.

Suspicion quickly lost to temptation, Lando grabbed the box and opened it.

“Where did these come from?” he asked, already unwrapping one.

Oscar shrugged, one hand relaxed on the steering wheel.

“Magic.”

Lando narrowed his eyes at him for half a second before deciding the answer didn’t matter. He popped the chocolate into his mouth and instantly felt his mood improve.

The irritation dissolved almost immediately.

He pulled another one from the box and held it out toward Oscar.

“Here.”

Oscar leaned slightly closer and took the chocolate without looking away from the road, chewing thoughtfully.

Peace restored.

Lando shifted in his seat and picked up his camera again, scrolling through the photos he’d taken earlier.

The kangaroo pictures were actually pretty good.

The lighting had worked perfectly, the tall grass framing the animal in a way that made the whole thing look almost cinematic.

He had to resist the urge to show Oscar right away.

The man was driving, after all.

Instead, he leaned back in the seat, camera resting in his lap as he kept looking through the pictures.

“Why didn’t you modify this car?” Lando asked casually.

Oscar glanced at him briefly.

“Didn’t really feel the need to. Why?”

Lando chewed the last bit of chocolate before answering.

“I mean…” he gestured vaguely toward the dashboard, “it could be faster.”

For a second Oscar didn’t respond.

Then he looked at Lando again.

And suddenly pressed his foot harder on the gas pedal.

The acceleration was immediate.

The force pushed Lando back into the seat, the car surging forward with a smooth but powerful burst of speed.

“It is plenty fast,” Oscar said calmly.

The unsettling part wasn’t the acceleration.

It was that Oscar was looking at him.

Not the road.

Lando blinked, his stomach flipping slightly as the speed kept climbing.

He glanced at Oscar.

Then at the road.

Then back at Oscar again.

“Osc.”

It was reckless.

Completely reckless.

Lando was a professional driver—everything about this situation went against the instincts drilled into him for years.

But somehow…

It still felt safe.

Because it was Oscar.

“There’s a speed limit,” Oscar said simply.

His eyes were still on Lando for another second before he finally turned his gaze back to the road.

The car gradually slowed again, settling back into a more reasonable pace.

Lando exhaled slowly.

Then frowned.

“Wait,” he said after a moment, voice returning. “So you never speed?”

Oscar smirked slightly.

“You know I do.”

His attention stayed firmly on the road now.

“Just not on the roads.”

Lando blinked.

“What? Why?” he asked, genuinely confused. “Isn’t that supposed to be your whole personality? You know—adrenaline, breaking laws and all that?”

He was rambling now, gesturing vaguely as he spoke.

Oscar chuckled quietly.

“For starters, I don’t want a ticket,” he said matter-of-factly.

Then he added, just as casually,

“And second, I don’t want to make speeding a habit. Because if I get caught in the Senna and they want to look under the hood…”

He paused.

“I’m fucked.”

Lando stared at him.

“Oh.”

The realization clicked instantly.

“Yeah,” Oscar continued. “The Senna is legal on the outside. As long as they don’t have a reason to look inside, I’m good.”

And honestly…

That made a lot of sense.

Lando knew plenty of hypercars were banned or restricted in different countries for various reasons. The GTR version of the Senna definitely wasn’t street legal anywhere.

But he’d never really thought about Oscar’s situation specifically.

About how he actually got away with driving a car like that around.

Which left Lando with one very obvious question.

“So you never got a ticket?” he asked.

“Nope.”

“Not once?” Lando turned fully toward him now. “Not even for parking?”

Oscar shook his head slightly.

“Nah, mate.”

His accent stretched slightly on the word mate, amused.

“My record’s completely spotless.”

Lando groaned dramatically and leaned back in his seat.

“Not fair.”

Oscar glanced at him.

“I start the season with three penalty points already,” Lando complained.

“Yeah, maybe you should learn to keep the speed limit too,” Oscar teased lightly.

Lando turned his head toward him, surprise written all over his face.

He shouldn’t have been this surprised, really. It wasn’t like Formula 1 was some obscure niche sport nobody had heard of. Still, hearing Oscar casually reference his penalty points caught him off guard.

“You watch races?” Lando asked.

Oscar shrugged, one shoulder lifting slightly as he kept his eyes on the road ahead.

“Not as much as I used to,” he admitted. “But I keep up with what’s going on.”

Lando blinked.

There was something oddly satisfying about that answer. The idea that Oscar followed the sport—even casually made something warm spark in his chest.

“Oh,” Lando said, leaning a little closer in his seat, suddenly far more interested in the conversation. “Who are you rooting for then?”

There was a genuine excitement in his voice now, the same kind that always appeared whenever the topic of racing came up. He watched Oscar expectantly, already curious about the answer.

Oscar didn’t seem to think about it for long.

“I should probably say Daniel,” he admitted, one corner of his mouth lifting slightly. “Since he’s Aussie.”

That sounded reasonable enough.

“But if I’m being honest,” he continued casually, “I like Max the most. And Red Bull overall.”

He said it so simply, so matter-of-factly, like he hadn’t just personally attacked Lando’s entire existence.

Lando stared at him.

“Excuse me?” he shouted a second later, clutching a hand to his chest in exaggerated offense. “What about me? What about the team you literally own a car from?”

He gestured dramatically toward Oscar like this was the greatest betrayal in motorsport history.

Oscar glanced at him briefly, clearly entertained by the reaction.

“I mean…” he said thoughtfully, “Red Bull doesn’t actually make cars, do they?”

Lando blinked.

“—That’s not the point!” he protested immediately.

Oscar’s lips twitched as if he was holding back a laugh.

“You drive a McLaren,” Lando continued, pointing at him accusingly. “You should have brand loyalty.”

Oscar chuckled softly.

“I didn’t buy the car because of the team,” he said. “I bought it because it’s one of the best engineered cars ever made.”

Lando sank slightly into his seat.

“You’re the worst.”

Oscar laughed again, the sound warm and easy as the road stretched endlessly ahead of them, the late afternoon sun beginning to soften the edges of the landscape.

“Here I thought we were friends,” Lando continued dramatically, leaning back in his seat as if personally wounded. “And the next moment you stab me in the back. That’s not very nice of you, Osc.”

“Friends, huh?” Oscar repeated, amused.

There was a teasing lilt in his voice, like he found the statement interesting but wasn’t going to comment on it too much.

Lando decided to ignore him entirely after that, choosing instead to act like his feelings had been deeply, tragically hurt.

He glanced at Oscar one last time with exaggerated disappointment before picking up his camera again, resting it in his hands as he turned toward the window.

The view outside had changed gradually over the last hour. The road cut through wide stretches of countryside now, long fields rolling past under the bright sky. Trees appeared here and there in uneven clusters, their shadows stretching lazily across the grass.

Lando lifted the camera and snapped a few photos through the window.

The came out a little blurry thanks to the movement of the car, but there was something about it he liked anyway—the streaks of color, the soft distortion of motion. It made the landscape feel alive somehow.

He took a few more.

Then, almost without thinking, he turned the camera toward Oscar.

The timing was perfect.

The sunlight slipped through the window at just the right angle, catching the side of Oscar’s face in a warm glow. His expression was relaxed but focused, eyes on the road ahead, one hand resting easily on the wheel. The wind from the slightly open window kept pushing a few strands of his hair out of place.

Lando paused for a second, adjusting the focus carefully this time.

Through the lens Oscar looked… different.

Sharper somehow. The strong line of his jaw, the faint scatter of moles across his skin, the calm concentration in his expression.

It was the kind of face photographers loved.

Lando pressed the shutter.

Click.

If Oscar noticed the camera pointed at him, he didn’t say anything.

And Lando was grateful for that.

He lowered the camera slowly, glancing down at the photo on the screen for a moment. It had turned out even better than he expected the sunlight, the calm focus on Oscar’s face, the relaxed way he held the steering wheel.

It looked… peaceful.

Lando saved it without thinking twice.

He didn’t want the moment to end. Didn’t want Oscar to suddenly become aware of it and ruin it with a joke or a comment.

Because that moment had felt real in a way Lando rarely experienced anymore.

Just Oscar driving.

Just the open road.

No expectations, no cameras, no people asking for interviews or pictures or statements.

For once he wasn’t the driver everyone wanted him to be.

He was just himself.

“We’re here, drama queen.”

Oscar’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts.

The car slowed before rolling into a small gravel parking space, the tires crunching softly as Oscar parked and turned off the engine.

Lando blinked and looked up, glancing out the window.

The place was… nice.

A small cabin stood a short distance away, simple but cozy looking, with weathered wood and a small porch. Beyond it a meadow stretched out wide and green, the grass swaying with the late afternoon wind.

The air looked clearer here somehow.

Quieter.

Before Lando could even properly take it all in, Oscar had already stepped out of the car.

The door on Lando’s side opened a second later.

Oscar stood there casually, one hand resting on the door as he looked down at him.

“You coming?”

He didn’t even wait for an answer before walking toward the trunk.

Lando watched him for a second, then finally climbed out of the car.

The air was cooler near the sea, carrying the faint salty scent of the water and the sound of waves somewhere in the distance.

By the time Lando walked around to the back of the car, Oscar was already pulling their bags out of the trunk like they weighed nothing.

Lando stopped beside the car and leaned his shoulder against it, watching him with quiet amusement for a moment.

“You know I am able to carry my own bags?” he pointed out.

Oscar glanced at him briefly, one of the bags already slung easily over his shoulder.

“I’d be surprised if you weren’t,” he replied.

But he made absolutely no move to hand any of them over.

Lando narrowed his eyes slightly but didn’t argue further. Instead, he pushed himself off the car and followed Oscar toward the cabin, trailing behind him like a mildly offended puppy.

Oscar walked up to the small porch and punched a code into the keypad by the door. The lock clicked open and he pushed the door inside without hesitation.

Lando stopped behind him.

“You booked it?” he asked, surprised.

Oscar glanced back over his shoulder and shrugged.

“While you were packing.”

Lando blinked.

He was used to people arranging things for him—hotels, flights, transport, schedules but that was always different. Professional. Organized by managers, assistants, teams.

This wasn’t that.

Oscar had just… done it. Quietly, casually, because it made the trip easier.

Because he wanted Lando to have a good time.

The thought sat strangely warm in his chest.

Inside, the cabin was simple but cozy. At first glance it wasn’t very big—a small living room connected to a kitchen island, a bathroom with a shower, and a bedroom with two beds.

But the moment Lando stepped further inside, the real highlight of the place revealed itself.

The entire wall beside the living room was made of floor-to-ceiling windows.

Outside was a wooden deck with a simple railing, the wood slightly weathered from sun and rain. Beyond it the landscape opened into wild bushland.

Tall, pale trees twisted upward in uneven shapes, their branches stretching lazily over thick green shrubs and patches of long grass. One of the trunks leaned sharply to the side like it had grown fighting the wind for years, its bark rough and peeling in places.

The air outside looked bright and still, the sunlight filtering through the leaves in soft, scattered patches that moved gently with the breeze.

It felt quiet.

Untouched.

Like the kind of place where the world slowed down whether you wanted it to or not.

Lando stepped closer to the glass without realizing it, taking in the view.

“Wow,” he murmured quietly.

Oscar dropped the bags near the couch and followed his gaze outside, though he didn’t seem nearly as impressed as Lando was.

“So what’s the plan?” Lando asked after a moment, turning back toward him with curiosity.

Oscar didn’t hesitate.

“We’re going hiking.”

Lando stared at him.

“Should’ve known Jon just sent you to torture me,” Lando joked, though it came out sounding more like a whine than he intended.

Oscar looked at him from across the room, one brow raised and a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“You agreed to this.”

He grabbed his backpack from the floor and started going through it, pulling out the things he clearly didn’t need and setting them aside on the kitchen island before replacing them with others—water bottles, powerbank, a small first aid kit.

Lando leaned against the counter, watching the process with mild curiosity.

It was oddly methodical. Efficient.

Like Oscar had done this a hundred times before.

“You’re very prepared,” Lando commented.

Oscar zipped the bag halfway before glancing up at him briefly.

“Someone has to be.”

Lando rolled his eyes but didn’t comment further, his gaze drifting down to his own shoes. Bright white sneakers that had definitely never seen anything resembling a hiking trail.

“I don’t have hiking shoes,” he pointed out, lifting one foot slightly like Oscar needed visual confirmation.

Oscar barely looked.

“You’ll be fine,” he said casually. “It’s gonna be more of a walk.”

Lando didn’t seem fully convinced, but he also didn’t argue again. Instead he grabbed his camera from the table, slinging the strap over his shoulder before following Oscar outside.

The air hit him immediately.

Fresh.

Cooler than inside the cabin, carrying the faint earthy smell of trees and grass warming under the sun.

The weather was perfect warm enough for a t-shirt but without the aggressive heat he remembered from Perth earlier that year. Back in February the sun had been relentless, the kind that made your skin feel like it was burning even through fabric.

This was different.

The light filtered gently through the tall trees surrounding the cabin, the breeze just strong enough to rustle the leaves and carry the distant sounds of birds somewhere deeper in the bushland.

Lando took a slow breath as they stepped off the wooden deck and onto the narrow dirt path leading away from the cabin.

“Alright,” he said, adjusting the camera in his hands. “Lead the way, hiking expert.”

They walked for a while after leaving the cabin, the narrow trail quickly swallowing them into the bushland.

At first Lando had expected something a bit more… dramatic. Mountains, maybe. Cliffs. Something that screamed hike. Instead the path curved gently through tall eucalyptus trees, their pale trunks rising like smooth pillars from the earth. The ground beneath them was soft with fallen leaves and dry bark, crunching quietly under their steps.

Every now and then a breeze moved through the branches high above them, carrying the faint salty hint of the ocean somewhere in the distance. Sunlight filtered through the canopy in scattered patches, warm streaks of gold that shifted slowly across the trail as the leaves moved.

Oscar walked ahead most of the time, clearly familiar with the terrain. His pace was easy, unhurried, hands occasionally brushing against branches that leaned too close to the path. Lando followed a few steps behind, stopping every so often to lift his camera.

Everything felt worth photographing.

The twisted shapes of the trees, some bending sideways as if they’d grown around invisible obstacles. Clusters of dense green shrubs packed tightly along the edges of the trail. Once he even crouched down to capture the patterns of sunlight cutting through tall grass swaying gently in the breeze.

Further along, the trail began opening up slightly as the landscape dipped. Through the trees Lando could occasionally glimpse flashes of water in the distance the pale blue surface of a river winding through the park before meeting the sea somewhere further out.

The sound of it grew clearer the closer they got. A quiet rush of water moving over rocks.

They passed a wooden sign half hidden behind bushes pointing toward Tidal Overlook, the trail bending upward slightly now as the ground began to climb.

“Almost there,” Oscar said over his shoulder.

Lando hummed in response, though his attention was mostly fixed through the lens of his camera. He was adjusting the focus on a shot of sunlight reflecting off a cluster of leaves when he stepped forward without really looking.

His foot sank directly into a patch of wet mud.

There was a horrible squelching sound.

Lando froze.

Then slowly looked down.

His once perfectly white sneaker was now half coated in thick brown mud.

“Osccccc,” he whined, dragging the word out dramatically as he tried to shake his foot, which only made things worse. “They’re ruined.”

Oscar turned around just in time to see Lando attempting to flick mud off his shoe with increasing frustration.

He lasted about two seconds before bursting into laughter.

Not even trying to hide it.

“You can afford new ones,” he said between laughs.

Lando stared at him like he’d just committed a personal betrayal.

“But you promised!”

Oscar held up his hands in mock surrender, still smiling.

“Okay, okay,” he said. “I’ll buy you new ones.”

Lando narrowed his eyes suspiciously but finally stepped out of the mud patch, wiping the bottom of his shoe against the dry dirt with dramatic annoyance.

“You better.”

Oscar just chuckled and turned back toward the trail, continuing up the path toward the overlook while Lando followed behind, grumbling quietly but already lifting his camera again the moment another patch of sunlight hit the trees just right.

“Lan.”

Oscar’s voice was quiet this time, low enough that it barely carried past them. He stopped so suddenly that Lando almost walked straight into his back.

The only thing that kept him from stumbling forward was Oscar’s reflexes—an arm shooting out quickly to catch him by the waist.

“Oscar—” Lando started, ready to complain about nearly being taken out on the trail, but the protest died immediately when Oscar lifted a finger.

“Shh.”

Then he pointed upward.

“Look.”

Lando followed the direction of his hand, lifting his gaze slowly through the branches above them.

At first he didn’t see it.

Then the shape shifted slightly.

A soft grey bundle clinging to the trunk of a eucalyptus tree, its rounded ears twitching as it adjusted its grip on the bark.

And not just one.

There was a smaller one clinging to its back, tiny paws gripping tightly into the thicker fur as the mother shifted lazily against the tree.

Lando’s entire face lit up instantly.

“Osc, koalas!” he whisper-shouted, the words bursting out of him as he scrambled to pull his camera up again.

Oscar’s hand was still steady on his waist, keeping him from stepping forward too quickly.

“Don’t make sudden moves,” he murmured gently. “They get spooked pretty easily.”

Lando nodded quickly even though his attention was completely locked on the view through the camera lens.

The mother koala barely moved, lazily chewing on a eucalyptus leaf while the baby peeked over her shoulder, its small nose twitching as it looked down at the strange humans below.

Lando took several photos in quick succession, adjusting the focus, zooming slightly, trying to capture the tiny claws wrapped into the bark and the way the baby clung to its mother like a little backpack.

“It’s so adorable,” he said softly, lowering the camera just enough to grin up at the tree.

Then he glanced sideways at Oscar.

“The baby looks like you.”

Oscar blinked once.

“Excuse me?”

Lando was already lifting the camera again, completely unbothered.

“Same grumpy face.”

Oscar snorted under his breath, but his attention drifted back to Lando rather than the koalas above them.

The Brit was practically glowing eyes bright, curls messy from the walk, completely absorbed in capturing the moment like it was the most exciting thing he’d ever seen.

Oscar watched him for a second longer than necessary.

A small, fond smile settling on his face.

Once Lando was satisfied with the photos, he lowered the camera and glanced back at Oscar.

“Okay,” he said quietly. “We shouldn’t disturb them. I think the baby’s about to fall asleep.”

Oscar raised a brow slightly, his posture still relaxed where he stood on the trail.

“I’m just waiting on you here.”

Lando didn’t bother responding to that. Instead he shot him a quick look, half suspicious and half playful, before turning and continuing down the trail as if he knew exactly where he was going.

Oscar watched him for a moment.

The confident stride. The way he lifted his chin slightly, pretending he had full control over the situation.

It was very clearly fake.

Oscar wasn’t sure if it was dumb or adorable.

Possibly both.

They walked another minute before Oscar finally spoke.

“The other way.”

Lando stopped mid-step, looking back at him with narrowed eyes before quietly turning around without a word.

Oscar bit back a smile and took the lead again.

The trail climbed gradually after that, the trees thinning out as the bushland gave way to rockier ground. The sound of the ocean grew louder the higher they went, the steady rhythm of waves rolling in somewhere below the cliffs.

And then the path opened.

The Tidal Overlook viewpoint stretched out in front of them, the landscape suddenly falling away into an enormous open view.

The ocean spread endlessly across the horizon, deep blue water shifting with long slow waves that rolled toward the shore far below. The coastline curved gently around the bay, pale sand and jagged rocks breaking the water where it met the land.

The sun was already lowering toward the horizon, the sky painted in soft orange and gold that reflected faintly across the surface of the water. The light touched everything—the cliffs, the distant trees, the sea itself—casting the whole view in warm evening tones.

For a moment neither of them said anything.

Lando lifted his camera almost automatically, taking a couple of photos. Two. Maybe three.

Then he stopped.

There was something about the quiet up there, about the way the wind moved softly through the grass along the cliff edge and the sound of the waves below, that made him lower the camera again.

Some moments weren’t meant to be captured.

He walked over and sat down on a large rock near the edge where Oscar had settled, stretching his legs slightly in front of him.

Oscar reached into his backpack and pulled out a water bottle, holding it out toward him.

Lando took it gratefully, already thirsty from the walk. He unscrewed the cap and drank almost half the bottle in one go before handing it back.

“It’s beautiful,” he said after a quiet moment, still looking out at the ocean. “Have you been here before?”

Oscar took a small sip before answering.

“Yeah. My first year of uni.”

He rested his forearms loosely on his knees, eyes drifting out toward the horizon.

“I was pretty overwhelmed back then. Emotional, I guess.” He shrugged slightly. “Racing wasn’t really an option at the time. I had an old Honda Civic.”

Lando glanced at him, surprised.

“So I just… drove,” Oscar continued. “Didn’t really have a plan. Just kept going until I ended up here.”

“Oh.”

The quiet honesty of it caught Lando off guard.

He hadn’t expected that. Hadn’t expected Oscar to bring him somewhere that clearly meant something personal.

Oscar looked back out over the ocean again, the breeze shifting his hair slightly.

“I always wanted to come back,” he said. “It’s just so peaceful here.”

He gestured vaguely toward the open landscape in front of them.

“Feels like the rest of the world doesn’t exist for a bit.”

“Yeah… I don’t get to slow down like this often,” Lando admitted after a while, his voice softer than usual. His elbows rested on his knees as he looked out over the water, the wind tugging gently at his hair. “Nowadays even my vacations feel rushed. There’s always somewhere I have to be. Someone waiting. Something scheduled.”

He paused for a moment before glancing sideways at Oscar.

“I’m nice,” he added with a faint grin, clearly meaning this. The walk, the quiet, the view. The break from everything else.

Oscar hummed quietly beside him, letting the comment sit in the air without interrupting it. The waves rolled steadily below them, the low rhythm of the ocean filling the silence between their words.

For a moment neither of them moved.

Then Oscar tilted his head slightly, glancing down at Lando’s once-white sneakers, now stained with a respectable amount of mud.

“Was it worth the shoes?” he asked after a beat, the corner of his mouth twitching.

Lando followed his gaze and immediately frowned.

“Don’t push it.”

Oscar laughed softly under his breath, leaning back on his hands as the sun dipped lower over the horizon, the sky slowly deepening from orange into warmer shades of pink and gold around them.

Chapter Text

When Lando woke up the next morning, the sun had barely started climbing over the horizon.

The room was washed in that pale early morning light that slipped through the thin curtains, soft and quiet in a way that made everything feel slower than usual.

For a moment he stayed where he was, half buried under the blankets, eyes still closed as he tried to convince himself to fall back asleep.

But there was no chance.

The jet lag had him fully awake now, his brain already alert even though his body still felt heavy from the previous day.

With a quiet sigh he rolled onto his side.

The other bed was empty.

The sheets were already pushed aside like someone had gotten up a while ago.

Lando frowned slightly but didn’t think too much of it. He stretched lazily before finally dragging himself out of bed and padding toward the kitchen.

Luckily there was tea.

He found a small box in one of the cupboards and made himself a cup, letting the kettle finish boiling while he leaned against the counter and stared out the window.

The cabin was strangely quiet.

Once his tea was ready, he took a slow sip and wandered around the place, half expecting Oscar to appear somewhere.

But the living room was empty.

The bathroom too.

He even stepped out onto the patio, glancing around the clearing outside the cabin.

Nothing.

That was when a small thought crept into his mind.

Had Oscar… left?

Lando frowned and walked around the side of the cabin to check the small gravel area where they’d parked.

The Audi was still there.

He relaxed instantly.

Okay. So he hadn’t been abandoned in the Australian wilderness after all.

Satisfied, Lando returned to the back of the cabin and decided to make himself comfortable on one of the wooden chairs outside instead of doing anything remotely productive.

The morning air was cool but pleasant, the sunlight just warm enough to feel nice against his skin.

He leaned back, letting the quiet settle around him while he slowly sipped his tea.

Birds chirped somewhere in the trees, and the faint sound of wind rustling through the leaves filled the otherwise peaceful silence.

He had no idea how long he sat there.

Ten minutes. Maybe twenty.

Long enough that his thoughts had started drifting somewhere else entirely.

Then the quiet was interrupted.

“Here you are.”

Lando turned his head toward the doorway—

And immediately forgot how breathing worked.

Oscar stood there.

It took Lando a full second to process what he was looking at.

Oscar was wearing nothing but running shorts and his shoes.

No shirt.

His hair was messy, damp strands falling slightly over his forehead. His cheeks were flushed from exertion, and a light sheen of sweat covered his skin, catching the early sunlight.

And yeah.

That confirmed it.

Oscar definitely spent time in the gym.

Abs like that didn’t appear out of nowhere.

Lando quickly looked away before he could be caught staring for too long.

“Where have you been?” he asked finally, clearing his throat and swallowing hard.

Oscar stepped outside and dropped into the chair beside him, taking a long drink from the water bottle in his hand.

“Went for a run,” he said casually, like this was the most normal thing in the world.

“Oh.”

That explained… everything.

“Could’ve woken me up,” Lando said, trying—and failing—to sound normal. “I could use some exercise too.”

Oscar glanced at him sideways, clearly amused.

“You looked dead asleep.”

Lando huffed slightly and lifted his tea again, pretending to be very focused on the cup while definitely not looking at Oscar’s chest.

“Shouldn’t you go take a shower?” Lando asked after a while, still staring very deliberately at his tea like it was the most fascinating thing in the world.

Anywhere but at Oscar.

Oscar raised an eyebrow at him.

“Why are you acting so strange this early?” he asked, the teasing tone already creeping into his voice like be clearly knew the effect he had on Lando.

Lando shrugged quickly, still refusing to look anywhere near him.

“I’m not.”

Oscar let out a quiet laugh, clearly unconvinced. “Sure.”

He stretched slightly in his chair before standing up again, rolling his shoulders like the run had finally started catching up with him.

“But you’re right,” he added, pushing a hand through his damp hair. “I’m going.”

And just like that he disappeared back inside the cabin.

The door clicked shut behind him.

Lando exhaled so deeply it almost felt ridiculous.

Only now did he allow himself to drop his head back against the chair and stare up at the pale morning sky.

God.

This was getting bad.

Really bad.

Both the physical and emotional attraction he felt toward Oscar was starting to spiral into something dangerous. It had been easy to ignore at first — back in Melbourne, when everything still felt casual and temporary.

But now they were on a road trip together.

Sleeping in the same places.

Spending entire days side by side.

And the worst part was how natural it all felt.

Being around Oscar was easy in a way Lando wasn’t used to. There were no expectations, no cameras, no people hovering around waiting for him to perform or behave a certain way.

Just Oscar.

Oscar who made him breakfast.

Oscar who planned entire trips without making it feel like a big deal.

Oscar who carried his bags like it was nothing.

And apparently Oscar who went on shirtless morning runs looking like something out of a fitness campaign.

Lando groaned quietly and covered his face with one hand.

This was a problem.

After a few long minutes of sitting outside alone with his thoughts, Lando finally pushed himself out of the chair and went back inside the cabin. The quiet was still there, but now it was broken by the distant sound of running water from the shower.

He rinsed his mug in the sink and washed it properly because he was a good guest like that—even though he doubted the owners would have cared about one dirty mug.

By the time he finished drying it and placing it back on the rack, the bathroom door opened.

“You ready to go soon?” Oscar asked, walking into the living area.

Thankfully, he was fully clothed this time.

Jeans, a plain t-shirt, hair still slightly damp.

Much safer for Lando’s nerves.

“We’ll get breakfast on the way.”

Lando just nodded, suddenly very interested in the counter again, before grabbing his own things and heading to the bathroom.

The shower helped.

Mostly.

At least by the time he stepped out again he felt a bit more like himself.

He didn’t have much to pack since he had barely unpacked anything the night before. His camera went back into his bag, a quick check for his phone and wallet, and that was pretty much it.

When he walked back into the living room, Oscar was already standing by the door with the car keys in his hand.

“Ready?”

“Yeah.”

Lando bent down to put on his sneakers—but stopped halfway through the motion.

“…you cleaned my shoes.”

It wasn’t a question.

They were still far from perfectly white, but most of the dried mud from the hike was gone. The fabric looked damp in places where someone had clearly scrubbed it.

Oscar leaned casually against the wall.

“Can’t let you get mud into my car,” he said with a shrug, trying to play it off like a joke.

But the tone gave him away.

Lando looked down at the shoes again for a moment, then back up at him.

“Thank you.”

Oscar just nodded once, like it really wasn’t a big deal.

And that was the end of that conversation.

Soon enough they were back on the road again.

The morning roads were almost completely empty, and Lando couldn’t tell if it was because it was still early or simply because they were somewhere far enough from the bigger cities.

They drove through forest first tall trees stretching along both sides of the road, sunlight filtering through the branches in shifting patches of gold across the asphalt.

After a while the landscape slowly opened up.

The forest thinned out and turned into wide fields instead, pale green and gold under the morning light, fences stretching along the roadside and the occasional farmhouse appearing in the distance.

Lando rested his head against the window, watching it all pass by.

It wasn’t even an hour before they reached another town.

Small, but alive.

There were a few shops, a gas station, and most importantly places that served food.

None of them were specifically breakfast spots, but after surviving mostly on snacks the day before, both of them quickly agreed that an early lunch sounded like a great idea.

They ended up in a small local restaurant.

The kind with simple wooden tables and a chalkboard menu near the counter.

Lando ordered chicken parma.

Which technically was the safer, more diet-friendly option.

Oscar ordered the steak.

And the moment their plates arrived, Lando knew he had made a mistake.

A terrible one.

He stared at Oscar’s plate.

Then back at his own.

Then back at Oscar’s again.

“Yours looks better,” he said finally, pouting slightly before taking a bite of his food.

Oscar watched him chew for a moment, clearly amused.

“Do you want to switch?” he asked casually, like it genuinely didn’t matter.

Lando stopped mid-chew.

For a second he actually considered it.

Then he shook his head and swallowed.

“No, it’s fine. I can suffer with my poor life choices,” he said with a dramatic sigh. “It’s actually good.”

Oscar nodded and started eating his own meal.

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, the soft clinking of silverware mixing with quiet conversations from the other guests in the restaurant.

Then Oscar reached over his plate, cut a small piece of his steak—

—lifted the fork slightly and held it in front of Lando.

“Here. Try.”

Lando blinked, clearly caught off guard by the gesture. For a second he hesitated, staring at the fork like his brain needed a moment to process what was happening.

Then he leaned forward and took the bite.

The moment the taste hit, his eyes widened slightly.

“It’s delicious,” he said, half-muffled because his mouth was still full, a pleased little sound slipping out with the words.

Oscar just smiled at him, amused, before casually returning to his own food like feeding him had been the most natural thing in the world.

Lando finished the rest of his meal with far less complaining after that.

When the bill came, he reached for it immediately.

Oscar had paid for practically everything so far the cabin, snacks, the gas, probably half the country at this point—and Lando refused to let him do it again.

“I’ve got it,” he insisted.

Oscar leaned back in his chair, clearly entertained by the determination.

“Well,” he chuckled, raising his hands in surrender, “whatever you want, golden boy.”

The nickname made Lando roll his eyes, but he still paid.

After leaving the restaurant, they spotted a small convenience store just down the road and decided to stop again before continuing the drive.

Inside, they wandered through the narrow aisles grabbing things for the road—chips, chocolate, a few isotonic drinks, and some energy drinks that Lando insisted were absolutely necessary for a proper road trip.

He felt relatively safe walking around the shop.

Cap pulled low, sunglasses on, casual clothes.

So far nobody had recognized him.

Which of course meant the universe immediately decided to prove him wrong.

“Excuse me?”

Lando turned around to see a boy standing a few feet away, maybe twelve years old, looking both nervous and excited at the same time.

“Are you Lando Norris?”

Lando’s smile came instantly.

“Yes I am,” he said warmly. “Are you a fan, buddy?”

The boy stared at him in pure awe.

“My favourite is Danny Ric,” he admitted quickly, “but you’re cool too!”

Lando laughed softly.

He always liked the younger fans the most. They were honest in a way adults rarely were.

“Want a photo?” he offered.

The boy nodded so enthusiastically his cap almost slipped off as he pulled his phone out.

“Osc, could you please?” Lando asked, turning toward him.

Oscar stepped forward with an easy smile, taking the phone from the kid and snapping the picture.

The boy thanked them about three times before running out of the shop with the biggest grin imaginable.

Lando and Oscar grabbed the last of their things, paid quickly, and headed back outside.

When they got into the car, Lando buckled his seatbelt before glancing over.

“Sorry about that,” he said.

Oscar looked at him, confused.

“Nothing to be sorry about, mate,” he said casually as he started the engine.

“It was cute.”

The road ahead looked much the same as it had for the past hour long stretches of open fields broken only by the occasional cluster of trees near the roadside. The landscape rolled by slowly, painted in soft morning colors, the sky still pale and clear above them.

Lando had taken over the music again, proudly reclaiming his position as the trip’s DJ. This time, though, the playlist was calmer. Slower songs filled the car, the kind that fit the early hour and the quiet countryside around them.

He leaned back in the passenger seat, one leg pulled slightly up under him as he watched the scenery pass by.

After a while he realized he regretted one decision.

His camera.

It was sitting safely in the trunk.

At the time it had seemed practical less clutter in the car—but now he kept spotting little things outside the window that would’ve made great photos. The light over the fields, the way the trees cast long shadows across the grass.

Instead, he settled for pulling out his phone and snapping a few quick pictures through the window.

They were fine.

But not the same.

“Lan, you can take a nap if you want.”

Oscar’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts.

Lando glanced over at him from the passenger seat.

Oscar was relaxed behind the wheel, one hand resting loosely on it while the other occasionally shifted gears. The sunlight streamed through the windshield, catching slightly in his hair.

“’M not sleepy,” Lando protested.

Oscar glanced at him briefly before returning his attention to the road.

“Your eyes are falling shut,” he said with a quiet chuckle.

“They are not,” Lando insisted, straightening slightly in his seat as if that proved his point. His voice carried more determination now, like he was personally offended by the accusation.

Then he turned toward Oscar again.

“Tell me where we’re going next,” he said. “Will there be more koalas?”

Oscar smiled faintly.

“They’re almost extinct there,” he explained. “But we might see some if we’re lucky.”

Lando’s expression softened instantly.

“That’s so sad,” he murmured.

His voice was already quieter now, slower.

“It’s so cool that you can just go to a forest and see koalas,” he continued sleepily. “It’s not fair.”

Oscar huffed a small laugh.

“You can always move here.”

But the comment came too late.

Lando had already drifted off.

Somewhere between one sentence and the next, sleep finally caught up with him. His body curled slightly in the passenger seat, head resting gently against the window as the landscape continued to blur past outside.

Oscar glanced over at him once.

Just long enough to see that he was completely out.

Then he smiled to himself and kept driving.

Lando slept through most of the drive.

He slept through the scenery slowly changing again, the wide open fields fading into thicker patches of forest as the road curved deeper into the countryside. He slept through Oscar pulling into a small gas station to refuel, the quiet clunk of the pump and the brief rustle of plastic bags when Oscar grabbed more water for the car.

At one point Oscar even took a call from his sister, his voice lowered into a quiet murmur so he wouldn’t wake the passenger beside him.

None of it stirred Lando.

By the time he finally began to wake up, they were already well past halfway to their destination.

His eyes opened slowly, blinking against the bright daylight filling the car. For a second he just stared at the windshield, his brain still trying to catch up with the fact that he was no longer asleep.

Then he noticed something.

Something soft under his head.

He shifted slightly and reached down, fingers brushing over fabric.

A folded hoodie.

Lando frowned faintly, lifting his head a little before settling back down again, realizing Oscar must have put it there at some point while he was asleep.

“Hi sleepy beauty,” Oscar said casually from the driver’s seat, clearly having noticed the movement. “Had a good nap?”

Lando rubbed his eyes and stretched slightly in the seat.

“Hi… yeah, I’m—”

“Don’t say sorry,” Oscar cut in immediately.

His tone was calm but firm.

“You’re still fighting jet lag. It’s really fine, Lan.”

Lando smiled a little at that, even though Oscar couldn’t really see him properly while focusing on the road ahead.

He reached forward and grabbed a Monster from the glove box, hoping the caffeine would help his brain wake up faster. But when he tried to open the can, his fingers fumbled with the tab like his body hadn’t quite caught up with the fact that he was conscious again.

Without a word, Oscar held out his hand.

Lando handed the can over.

Oscar kept the wheel steady with one knee for a second, popped the tab open effortlessly, and passed it back.

Like it was nothing.

Like that hadn’t just been the most unnecessarily attractive thing Lando had ever seen.

Lando blinked once.

Then twice.

He took a careful sip of the drink, focusing very hard on not choking on it.

Then he leaned back into the seat with a quiet, frustrated whine.

Oscar glanced at him briefly.

“Hmm?”

Clearly completely unaware of what he had just done to the poor man next to him.

“Nothing,” Lando muttered quickly. “Are we here yet?”

“About an hour and a half more,” Oscar replied, eyes flicking toward him again. “Why?”

Lando shifted slightly in his seat.

“I need to pee.”

Oscar chuckled under his breath before glancing briefly at the navigation on his phone.

“There’s a gas station in a few kilometers,” he said. “We’ll make a stop.”

The stop at the gas station went smoothly this time.

No wildlife sightings.

No sudden photography missions in the grass.

Lando used the bathroom, grabbed his camera from the trunk refusing to make the same mistake twice and by the time they were back on the road, the quiet rhythm of the drive had settled in again.

The forest stretched around them once more, tall trees casting shifting shadows across the asphalt as the car moved through patches of sunlight.

For a while Lando just scrolled through the photos he’d taken the day before, occasionally glancing outside to see if anything else caught his eye.

Then a thought returned.

A question that had been sitting in the back of his mind since before Melbourne.

“So,” Lando said suddenly, looking up from his camera. “How does it feel to be the Australian street champion?”

Oscar blinked once, clearly not expecting that.

“The what now?” he asked, amused.

“According to Dan,” Lando continued, now fully committed to the topic, “you’re like the street king. A legend. You come, win, and disappear.”

Oscar stayed quiet for a moment.

Then he laughed.

A proper laugh this time.

“That’s ridiculous.”

“No,” Lando insisted immediately, turning toward him in his seat. “You’re like Theo’s biggest enemy at this point.”

Oscar glanced at him briefly.

“Who’s?”

“The Nissan guy?” Lando said, surprised he didn’t recognize the name. “Danny’s friend from Perth.”

“Oh—” Oscar made a small face of recognition. “Yeah. Nasty crash.”

He looked back at the road, thoughtful for a second.

“Was he alright?”

Lando shrugged slightly.

“I have no idea. Didn’t ask.”

He frowned a little, suddenly feeling a bit guilty about that. Everything happened so fast at the time that Lando hadn’t thought to follow up.

“Did you know?” he asked after a moment.

Oscar tilted his head slightly.

“Know what?”

“That he’d spin.”

Oscar nodded without hesitation.

“Yeah.”

Lando stared at him.

“Wait—seriously?”

Oscar shrugged one shoulder.

“It wasn’t hard to see coming,” he said calmly. “He was pushing way too hard going into that corner.”

Lando leaned forward slightly now, interested.

Oscar continued.

“He entered the turn too fast and tried to correct mid-line instead of committing to it,” he explained. “The weight transfer was already wrong. You could see the rear start to get light before he even hit the apex.”

He tapped his fingers lightly on the steering wheel as he spoke, like he was replaying it in his head.

“With a car like that, once the back starts stepping out under throttle, you either counter immediately or you’re done. He hesitated for half a second.”

Oscar glanced over briefly.

“That’s all it takes.”

Lando blinked.

That… was a very racer’s explanation.

“Okay,” he said slowly. “That was suspiciously professional.”

Oscar smirked slightly but kept his eyes on the road.

“Just observation.”

Lando hummed, not entirely convinced.

It was a shame, really—at least in Lando’s opinion.

With a mind like that, with the kind of awareness and instinct Oscar had just casually demonstrated, he would’ve been an incredible Formula 1 driver. Lando was certain of it. Not just decent but great. The kind that could win championships.

One easily.

Two at least, if you asked Lando.

And if not as a driver, then as a race engineer? Lando was pretty sure he’d win a championship himself within a year with Oscar on the pit wall.

It felt unfair sometimes, the way life worked.

Talent in the wrong places. Opportunities that never lined up.

But Lando didn’t push the subject. Not yet. He had already sensed it was a delicate topic for Oscar, and for once he tried to respect that boundary instead of charging straight through it.

Luckily, the road soon offered a distraction.

They entered another small town, and Lando immediately leaned forward in his seat.

“It looks so cool!” he gasped, eyes scanning the streets. “Like a TV show.”

The buildings were small and colorful, the kind of coastal town architecture that looked almost too charming to be real. Little cafés, surf shops, weathered wooden signs swinging slightly in the breeze.

Oscar just smirked as he drove slowly through the streets.

A moment later the road opened up—

—and the ocean appeared.

Blue and endless, stretching out toward the horizon.

Lando went quiet instantly, watching through the window, his camera completely forgotten for once as he just took in the view.

“We’re here,” Oscar announced a minute later, pulling the car into a spot as close to the beach as he could reasonably manage.

Lando was already unbuckling his seatbelt.

The moment the car stopped he jumped out, practically bouncing onto the pavement.

Oscar got out too, though much slower. He leaned casually against the hood of the car, arms folded, watching as Lando walked closer to the shore.

Lando was already pulling his camera out, snapping photos of the ocean like an excited kid on his first holiday.

His grin was impossible to miss.

“Can we go swimming?” he asked suddenly, turning back toward Oscar.

Oscar shrugged easily.

“Sure. I think we can find a shop to buy swimming trunks somewhere around here.”

It took them about five minutes of walking through the small town to find one.

The place was… confusing.

Half fishing store, half hardware shop, half random household supply warehouse. There were fishing rods leaning against one wall, shelves of car oils and liquids on another, and stacks of cooking pots in the corner.

But luckily there was also a clothing section.

And even more luckily, that section included swimwear.

Lando was flipping through a rack of swim shorts when Oscar spoke up from the shoe aisle.

“Should we take thongs too?”

Lando froze.

Slowly he turned around.

“Excuse me?”

Oscar pointed toward a row of rubber sandals.

“Thongs. It’ll be easier walking on the sand than in our shoes.”

Lando stared at him.

“You mean flip-flops?”

“Yeah.”

Oscar’s face remained completely serious.

Lando blinked several times.

“What the hell, Oscar? Why would you call them that?”

Oscar shrugged like this was completely normal.

“What? We call ’em thongs around here.”

His accent thickened slightly as if he was emphasizing the point.

Lando rubbed his face dramatically.

“Oh my goodness.”

He looked exhausted already.

“Yes, we should buy some too,” he sighed. “But don’t ever call them that in my presence again. These are flip-flops.”

Oscar giggled quietly to himself and grabbed two pairs anyway, along with a large beach blanket they could sit on later.

When they reached the counter, Oscar paid before Lando could even protest.

Normally Lando would’ve insisted.

But the shop didn’t accept cards.

And he didn’t have any Australian cash on him.

Which meant Oscar won that round too.

They walked back to the car, Oscar grabbing his backpack from the back seat before locking it again. From there it was only a short walk down a sandy path that opened up onto the beach.

The shoreline stretched wide and quiet in front of them.

It wasn’t peak tourist season yet, so the place wasn’t crowded, but it wasn’t empty either. A few families were scattered farther down the beach, some people walking along the waterline, and in the distance a small group of teenagers were out in the waves with surfboards.

The air smelled like salt and warm sand.

Lando barely took a moment to admire it before he dropped his bag onto the blanket Oscar spread out and started stripping down without a hint of shame.

Shirt off.

Shoes off.

Shorts down.

He stepped into the new swim trunks right there, tugging them up over his boxers before tossing the rest of his clothes onto the blanket.

Oscar watched the whole thing with mild amusement while pulling off his own shirt a bit more slowly.

Lando, meanwhile, was already sprinting toward the water.

Big mistake.

The sun had been warming his skin the entire walk down, making the day feel perfectly pleasant.

The ocean was… not.

The moment his feet hit the water, Lando sucked in a sharp breath. But momentum carried him forward another few steps before the cold fully registered.

Still, he tried to pretend everything was fine.

He stood there for a solid thirty seconds, jaw tight, shoulders stiff, attempting to look brave.

Then he spun around and ran straight back toward the shore.

“It’s freezing!” he complained loudly, like Oscar was personally responsible for the temperature of the entire ocean.

Oscar didn’t even slow down as he walked past him.

He stepped calmly into the water, wading in with far less drama.

“It’s quite alright actually,” he said casually, continuing deeper.

He turned slightly, looking over his shoulder.

“C’mon in. Slowly so you get used to it.”

Lando opened his mouth to protest—

—but before he could even form the words, Oscar reached out and grabbed him lightly by the waist, pulling him back toward the water.

“Oscar!” Lando yelped, his voice jumping an octave as the cold rushed up around his legs again.

“Don’t whine,” Oscar said, rolling his eyes. “You’ll attract attention.”

Lando instinctively glanced around.

But apart from the small group of teens surfing farther down the beach and an elderly man walking his dog along the shoreline, there really wasn’t anyone paying them any attention.

Which made the whole situation feel slightly less embarrassing.

His attention drifted back to the surfers.

He watched them curiously for a moment as they tried to catch waves.

“Will you teach me how to surf?” he asked suddenly.

Oscar glanced in the same direction before looking back at him.

“Sure,” he said with a small shrug. “But I’m not that good at it.”

He guided Lando a little farther into the water while speaking, the waves now reaching their thighs.

“Might need to find a better beach for that though.”

“This one looks good enough,” Lando said distractedly, still watching the surfers.

He didn’t even realize how far in they had already gone.

The water was halfway up his stomach now.

Oscar chuckled quietly.

“It’s decent,” he admitted, “but I want you to have the real experience.”

“Aww, Osc—”

Lando turned toward him mid-sentence—

And finally realized how deep they were standing.

“Wait.”

Oscar raised an eyebrow.

“Not so cold anymore?”

Lando huffed.

“It’s freezing!” he insisted again, though this time the complaint sounded far less convincing.

Oscar just laughed.

Then, without warning, he leaned backward and let himself float onto the water, stretching out comfortably as the waves carried him a few feet away.

“You’re the worst,” Lando muttered.

He splashed a handful of water toward him in retaliation.

The water barely reached Oscar, but it made him laugh even louder as he drifted back, clearly enjoying himself far too much.

The sun was already beginning to dip toward the horizon by the time they finally decided to leave the water.

The air had cooled noticeably, the warmth from earlier in the day fading with the light. Lando was the first one out, wading quickly toward the shore, water dripping from his swim trunks as the wind hit his skin.

He hurried ahead of Oscar, feet sinking slightly into the damp sand, already reaching for his camera.

The sunset was too good to miss.

The sky had turned soft shades of orange and pink, the light reflecting across the surface of the water like molten glass. Lando lifted the camera instinctively, adjusting the focus for a quick shot of the horizon—

—and then, without hesitation, turned it toward Oscar instead.

“Smile,” he said.

The shutter clicked.

Oscar had just stepped out of the water, walking toward him across the sand. His hair was still wet, darker where the seawater clung to it, droplets sliding down his neck and shoulders. The sunset lit everything in warm gold behind him.

Relaxed. Shirtless. Completely unaware of how good the lighting was.

Lando lowered the camera and grinned, already scrolling through the shot.

It was a good one.

Actually, it was a great one.

Oscar walking toward him, the ocean behind him, sunlight catching the water still dripping from his hair. The whole thing looked effortless, like something straight out of a magazine shoot.

Lando plopped down onto the blanket, still examining the photo.

“Woo,” he said, letting out an impressed whistle. “And here I thought I was the amazing model.”

He rubbed his arms briefly, a small shiver running through him.

“You clean up nicely, Mr. Piastri.”

Oscar crouched down beside him, leaning slightly over Lando’s shoulder to look at the screen.

“It looks decent,” he said.

Lando’s head snapped up.

“Decent?” he repeated, scandalized. “It’s a masterpiece. I’m an amazing photographer.”

“Of course you are,” Oscar replied, a small smile tugging at his lips.

He studied the photo for another moment before adding quietly, “I just don’t like photos of myself. I always look awkward.”

He nodded slightly toward the screen.

“But this one’s decent.”

Lando grabbed his T-shirt from the blanket and pulled it over his head quickly, the fabric still a little damp from the sea air. The wind had picked up just enough to make him shiver again.

“You’re lying,” he said, tugging the shirt down. “Every single photo I’ve taken of you looks good.”

Oscar didn’t comment on the fact that Lando had said photos. Plural.

Instead he just shrugged lightly.

“Yeah. Maybe because it’s you who took them.”

He paused for a moment before adding, a little more quietly,

“I’m not so tense around you.”

That was enough to make Lando freeze.

For a second he didn’t know what to say.

His brain immediately started trying to process the sentence in about twelve different ways at once.

Luckily, Oscar didn’t give him time to spiral.

“Here,” he said, reaching into his backpack. “Your teeth are chattering.”

He held out a hoodie.

It was simple—beige, slightly oversized, clearly well worn.

Clearly Oscar’s.

Lando took it without hesitation, pulling it on gratefully as the warmth of the thicker fabric wrapped around him.

“What about you?” he asked, glancing up.

Oscar shrugged as he sat back on the blanket.

“I run hot most of the time,” he said casually. “I’m fine with just a shirt.”

He nodded slightly toward the hoodie, encouraging Lando to keep it.

“We should get going anyway,” Oscar said after a while, pushing himself up from the blanket. “Find a hotel to stay.”

He brushed some sand off his hands before offering one to Lando.

Lando looked at it in mild surprise before taking it, letting Oscar pull him up to his feet.

“Wow,” he said with a crooked smile. “You didn’t prepare this time?”

Oscar shook his head.

“No,” he admitted, grabbing the backpack from the blanket. “But don’t worry. I know a place.”

The drive turned out to be short.

Only a few minutes later Oscar slowed the car and pulled up in front of a building that immediately made Lando sit up a little straighter in his seat.

It looked… old. But in the elegant kind of way.

The building was a warm golden color, two stories tall with red brick across the middle and wide balconies stretching along the front. Decorative iron railings wrapped around the upper level, and soft yellow lights glowed behind the windows and along the veranda.

The architecture felt almost historic symmetrical towers on both ends, ornate trim along the roofline, and a large wooden entrance door sitting at the top of a short set of steps.

Above the balcony, a sign read Hotel Australasia.

It didn’t look like the massive modern hotels Lando was used to.

It looked smaller.

Older.

But somehow far more impressive.

“Oh,” Lando said quietly as he stepped out of the car, tilting his head back slightly to look at the building.

Oscar just grabbed his backpack and nodded toward the entrance.

“C’mon.”

Inside was even more surprising.

The moment they walked through the door, Lando slowed down.

The lobby was elegant in a way that felt almost theatrical.

Soft grey walls framed tall archways, and a large crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, scattering warm light across the tiled floor. The tiles themselves were patterned in neat geometric squares, leading toward a polished reception desk on the right.

A sweeping staircase rose from the back of the room, dark steps with a white railing curving upward to the second floor.

There were antique-looking chairs placed neatly along one wall, a small table with flowers on the counter, and framed artwork lining the hallway beyond.

It didn’t feel like the kind of hotel built to host hundreds of people.

It felt quiet.

Carefully designed.

Expensive in a way that didn’t try too hard to show it.

Lando glanced around slowly, taking it all in.

“Okay,” he muttered under his breath. “This is… not what I expected.”

Oscar looked over at him, amused.

Oscar walked up to the front desk like he belonged there.

And honestly, in Lando’s eyes, he did.

Confident. Calm. Completely at ease in a place that looked far too elegant for a random stop on a road trip.

Lando lingered a step behind him, still glancing around the lobby while Oscar leaned casually against the counter.

“You’re lucky,” the woman at reception said as she checked the system. “We have one room left for tonight.”

Lando opened his mouth—

“Amazing, we’ll take take it,” Oscar replied immediately, already pulling his card from his wallet.

“No—” Lando protested.

But it was too late.

The soft click of the terminal approving the transaction sounded a second later.

“That’s not fair,” Lando complained, lowering his voice as he stepped closer to the desk.

But the receptionist only giggled softly as she handed them the room key.

“You’re really lucky,” she said warmly, glancing between them, “having such a generous boyfriend.”

Lando opened his mouth—

But Oscar was faster.

He turned slightly toward him with a small smirk.

“See baby.” he said casually. “The lady agrees.”

Baby.

The word did something catastrophic to Lando’s brain.

It was like every thought he had simply short-circuited at once. For a second he genuinely forgot how to breathe properly, his brain latching onto that single word like it had been personally engineered to ruin him.

He never wanted to hear it again.

Unless Oscar was the one saying it.

“Go upstairs,” Oscar added casually, already turning toward the door. “While I fetch the bags from the car.”

Lando could only nod.

The Australian was having far too much fun with the entire situation.

He climbed the staircase, the dark steps creaking softly under his feet, but he barely noticed the details of the hallway this time. His mind was still stuck somewhere between baby and the way Oscar had said it so easily.

It took him a moment to find the right door, the brass number catching the warm light of the hallway lamps.

When he opened it, he stopped in the doorway.

The room was gorgeous.

Not flashy in the way modern luxury hotels were, but elegant and carefully designed. The walls were painted a deep navy blue that made the space feel rich and warm, contrasted by crisp white details around the bed frame and furniture.

A large king-size bed sat in the center of the room, perfectly made with soft white sheets and several plush pillows. Matching bedside tables stood on each side with warm lamps casting a soft glow across the polished wooden floor.

Heavy dark curtains framed tall windows, and in one corner sat two velvet armchairs beside a small wooden table made from a thick natural slab, its edges uneven and rustic.

Across the room a tall turquoise dresser added a splash of color, and beyond that an open step led up to a small raised area where a beautiful freestanding bathtub stood near the window, gleaming under the soft lights.

It looked less like a hotel room and more like something out of an interior design magazine.

Lando stepped further inside, slowly turning as he took everything in.

Then his eyes returned to the bed.

He blinked once.

Then again.

Because there was one small problem.

There was only one bed.

“Osc.”

Lando spoke the moment he heard the door open behind him.

Oscar stepped inside, carrying their bags, kicking the door shut with his foot.

“There—there’s just one,” Lando said, pointing rather stupidly at the bed like it hadn’t been visible from the second they walked in.

Oscar followed the direction of his finger.

“Yeah,” he said simply.

He dropped the bags onto the floor beside the dresser.

“I know.”

Lando blinked at him.

“That’s it?” he asked.

Oscar looked back at the bed again, then at Lando, completely unfazed.

“It’s big enough for both of us, Lan.”

The way he said it so calm, so confident, like it was the most obvious thing in the world made it strangely difficult for Lando to argue.

And honestly…

It wasn’t really a big deal.

He had shared beds with friends before.

Max when they were younger, during race weekends when they’d stayed over too late gaming.

Carlos once when the team had completely messed up their travel accommodations and the hotel had run out of rooms.

Danny after a night where they’d both been far too drunk to make any responsible decisions.

It was normal.

Completely normal.

Just a bed.

Just sleep.

Nothing weird about it.

“Right,” Lando said after a moment, nodding to himself like he’d just solved a complicated internal debate. “Yeah. Fine.”

Oscar had already started digging through his bag.

“C’mon,” he said casually. “We gotta shower.”

He jerked his head toward the raised bathroom area.

“And then we’re going to dinner.”

Lando followed his gaze toward the bathtub area again, only now realizing just how open the layout actually was.

“…Right,” he repeated, a little less confidently this time.

Lando rushed through his shower.

The bathroom area was only separated from the rest of the room by a thin curtain, and it did absolutely nothing to make him feel like he had any real privacy. The whole setup looked beautiful but right now he would have traded the aesthetic for a solid door.

He kept the water quick, efficient, trying very hard not to think about the fact that Oscar was literally just a few steps away on the other side of that curtain.

When he stepped out, towel around his shoulders, Oscar was already grabbing his things to take his turn.

Lando moved quickly to the mirror, attempting to fix his hair before the curls dried completely wrong. Unfortunately, the small travel pouch he’d brought didn’t exactly contain his full collection of hair products.

He ran his fingers through it, tried to shape it, tried again—

It was hopeless.

By the time Oscar came back out of the bathroom, Lando had already accepted defeat.

His curls had decided to do whatever they wanted.

The hotel restaurant downstairs was just as fancy as the rest of the place.

Soft lighting, polished wooden floors, white tablecloths, and neatly arranged tables with small candles flickering in the center. The large windows looked out toward the quiet street, the last traces of sunset fading into deep evening blue.

Despite the elegance, the layout strangely reminded Lando of a Wetherspoons.

Just… a very expensive, very polished version of one.

Which only made him feel even more out of place.

He was still wearing Oscar’s hoodie, his shoes were dusty from the beach, and his hair looked like it had lost a fight with the wind. Meanwhile Oscar had changed into a simple polo shirt that somehow made him look perfectly appropriate for the setting.

“I feel inappropriate,” Lando whispered as they walked in.

Oscar glanced at him and immediately laughed.

“Literally nobody cares how you look.”

“I care,” Lando protested quietly. “What if someone sees me?”

“And ruins your perfect image?” Oscar teased.

Lando narrowed his eyes at him.

“You’re insufferable.”

They were seated at a small table near the window. Outside, the street was quiet, warm yellow lights reflecting on the pavement.

This time Lando didn’t make the same mistake as earlier.

He actually read the menu.

The lamb burger sounded incredible, so he ordered that, while Oscar chose a simple pepperoni pizza and a bottle of wine for them to share.

The waitress gave them a small, knowing smile as she finished writing down their order.

“Are we celebrating something, gentlemen?”

Lando turned bright red almost instantly.

Oscar, meanwhile, didn’t even blink.

He simply shrugged, offering her one of those calm, charming smiles that seemed to work far too well.

“No big reason,” he said easily. “Just because.”

Lando wanted to kill him.

The waitress smiled again and left them alone.

When the food arrived, Lando immediately pulled out his phone.

“Wait, wait—don’t touch it yet.”

He leaned over the table, adjusting the plates slightly so they looked better in the frame before snapping several photos.

Then a few more.

Then another from a slightly different angle.

Oscar watched the whole process with quiet curiosity.

“Why are you taking so many?” he asked.

There wasn’t even a hint of annoyance in his voice.

Just genuine interest.

“For the memories,” Lando replied simply.

The answer sounded casual, but the reason behind it ran deeper than that.

Photography had always been something he loved, yes but it wasn’t just about pretty pictures.

Lando hated the idea of moments disappearing.

Of time passing so quickly that you forgot the small things.

Photos helped him keep them.

Little pieces of life frozen exactly as they were.

A way to make sure nothing important was ever completely lost.

They ate slowly, talking with an ease that had settled between them somewhere during the day.

At first the conversation was light—complaints about not seeing any koalas today, Oscar teasing Lando for nearly screaming when he’d first stepped into the ocean, Lando defending himself with dramatic exaggeration. But the longer they stayed, the more relaxed it became.

Their plates were eventually wiped clean.

Somewhere along the way another bottle of wine had appeared on the table.

Lando hadn’t really noticed when Oscar ordered it, but by the time they stood up to leave he could definitely feel it. Not drunk, not even close but pleasantly warm, the kind of tipsy that made everything feel softer and funnier than usual.

The walk back upstairs felt shorter than before.

The hallway lights were dimmer now, the hotel quiet for the night.

Once inside the room, Lando kicked his shoes off immediately, wobbling slightly as he tried to tug his jeans down.

That turned out to be a mistake.

He lost his balance halfway through the process and would have gone straight to the floor if Oscar hadn’t stepped forward and caught him by the arm.

“Easy,” Oscar said, steadying him.

Lando burst into quiet giggles, leaning against him for a second longer than necessary.

“I’m fine,” he insisted, still laughing.

“Clearly,” Oscar replied dryly.

He guided Lando the few steps to the bed, sitting him down before the Brit could attempt anything else dangerous.

“Stay.”

Lando saluted him dramatically.

Oscar rolled his eyes but crouched down anyway, helping pull the rest of the jeans off before tossing them somewhere toward the chair.

“You’re very bossy tonight,” Lando mumbled.

“You’re very uncoordinated tonight.”

Oscar grabbed one of his own t-shirts from his bag and handed it to him.

Lando tried to put it on.

Tried being the key word.

He somehow got his head stuck halfway through and started laughing again.

With a quiet sigh that didn’t quite hide the small smile tugging at his lips, Oscar stepped forward and helped untangle him, pulling the shirt properly down over his shoulders.

“There,” he said.

“Thank you,” Lando murmured, voice softer now.

By the time they finally settled into bed, the room had gone completely quiet.

The lights were off, the navy walls blending into darkness. Outside the window there were no passing cars, no distant city noise—just the stillness of a small coastal town settling into the night.

The bed was large enough that they instinctively stayed on opposite sides of it.

Plenty of space between them.

For a while neither of them spoke.

The faint rustle of sheets, slow breathing, the occasional shift of someone trying to get comfortable.

“Osc?”

Lando’s voice came quietly through the darkness, thick with sleep.

“Hmm?” Oscar answered just as softly.

“I’m really happy I met you.”

There was a small pause.

“Thank you.”

The words were simple. Honest in a way that only happened when someone was already half asleep.

Oscar felt the mattress shift slightly as Lando turned onto his side, already drifting.

For a moment Oscar just lay there, staring up into the dark.

Then he moved.

Carefully.

He shifted closer across the mattress, slow enough not to wake him.

Lando had already fallen asleep, breathing steady, curls a complete mess against the pillow.

Oscar hesitated for half a second.

Then he leaned down.

The kiss he pressed to the top of Lando’s head was soft and quick, almost hesitant.

By the time he settled back into his own pillow again—

Lando was long gone.

Chapter Text

Lando woke up warm.

Too warm.

And something was moving.

“Lan.”

The voice came through the fog of sleep firs low, rough, the morning rasp still thick in it.

“Oscar…?” Lando mumbled into the pillow.

Except the pillow shifted slightly under him.

“Lando, wake up.”

Oscar’s accent was stronger than usual, his voice quieter but firm as he gently shook him again.

“Hmm?” was the only thing Lando managed as he slowly lifted his head.

That was when he realized the pillow beneath him was not a pillow.

It was warm.

And breathing.

His brain caught up in slow, horrifying pieces.

Somewhere in the middle of the night they had both migrated toward the center of the bed.

And Lando had apparently decided Oscar made an excellent mattress.

He was half sprawled across him, one arm draped over Oscar’s side, his head resting squarely on his chest.

“Oh—fuck.”

Lando shot upright so fast he nearly fell off the bed.

“I’m sorry!” he blurted, suddenly very awake.

Oscar just laughed.

It was that low, easy laugh again, completely unbothered.

“It’s alright, sleepyhead,” he said, stretching his arms above his head as he sat up. “Was quite comfy actually.”

Lando stared at him like he had just committed a federal crime.

Oscar, meanwhile, swung his legs off the bed like nothing had happened.

“C’mon,” he said casually. “We’re going running.”

“W—what?”

Lando’s brain was still operating at about fifteen percent capacity.

“You complained yesterday that I didn’t wake you up,” Oscar reminded him, already pulling on his shoes. “So come on.”

He was entirely too energetic for someone who had gone through an entire bottle of wine the night before.

Lando, on the other hand, felt like someone had filled his skull with cotton and lightly shaken it.

His head throbbed faintly.

His body refused to cooperate.

He was not a morning person.

At all.

Especially not after wine.

But somehow he still dragged himself out of bed.

He splashed cold water on his face in the bathroom, hoping the shock would wake him up even a little. It helped just enough to keep his eyes open while he pulled on the first clothes he could find: a pair of shorts, a loose shirt, and shoes.

Oscar was already waiting by the door.

“Ready?” he asked.

“No,” Lando answered honestly.

They stepped out into the cool morning air.

The town was quiet at this hour, the streets nearly empty as they started jogging through them. The pace wasn’t particularly fast Oscar seemed to match Lando’s slower rhythm without commenting on it—but even that felt like a lot right now.

They moved through the sleepy streets, past small cafés that were only just beginning to open, the scent of fresh bread and coffee drifting faintly into the air.

The sky ahead of them was beginning to brighten.

Soft streaks of pink and gold stretched across the horizon as they reached the coastal path.

From there the view opened up completely.

The ocean spread out wide and calm, the first light of sunrise reflecting across its surface. The path curved along the rocks, leading toward a natural stone pool carved into the shoreline.

By the time they slowed to a stop at the edge of the pool, the sun was just beginning to rise over the water.

The tide rolled gently against the rocks below, waves breaking softly against the edges of the pool. The water inside it was smooth and glassy, reflecting the pale morning sky.

Lando bent forward slightly, hands on his knees, catching his breath.

Oscar stood beside him, barely winded.

Lando glanced up at the view.

Then at Oscar.

“…Okay,” he admitted between breaths.

“That was worth it.”

Lando didn’t even try to hide how exhausted he was.

After a moment of staring out at the sunrise, he dramatically dropped down onto one of the large rocks near the edge of the pool, leaning back on his hands like a man who had just completed a marathon.

“You can leave me here to die,” he announced breathlessly. “I won’t mind.”

Oscar let out a quiet laugh and sat down beside him.

“Alright,” he said, playing along. “We can have a small break.”

Lando looked hopeful for half a second.

“But it’s far from over.”

The hope died instantly.

“Nooo, Osc,” Lando groaned, dragging the word out dramatically. “Why are you so mean to me?”

Oscar tilted his head, watching him with open amusement.

“Aren’t you a professional athlete?”

Lando just pouted harder, clearly refusing to acknowledge that argument.

For a few minutes they sat there quietly, watching the sun slowly climb higher above the water. The early morning light painted everything in warm gold, the surface of the rock pool glowing softly while the ocean beyond it shifted between blues and silvers.

The air smelled like salt and cool stone.

Lando stretched his legs out in front of him, still trying to catch his breath.

Eventually Oscar stood up and nudged his shoe gently against Lando’s.

“C’mon,” he said. “We’re not finished yet.”

Lando groaned again but pushed himself up anyway.

The rest of the jog was even slower, more relaxed. By the time they finally stopped running entirely, the town had started to wake up properly.

For a Sunday morning it was already fairly busy.

People were out walking dogs, small cafés had their doors open, and the quiet streets now carried the soft hum of conversation and early traffic.

They slowed to a comfortable walking pace as they made their way back through the town.

Lando rubbed the back of his neck, clearly feeling the run in muscles that had not agreed to this plan.

“We need tea,” he declared suddenly.

Oscar raised an eyebrow.

“As a reward,” Lando clarified seriously. “For our hard work.”

Oscar didn’t bother arguing.

Two minutes later Lando had already pulled out his phone and opened Google Maps, determinedly dragging Oscar toward the café with the best reviews he could find.

The place was small but cozy, the smell of coffee and baked pastries filling the air. Lando ordered tea, of course, while Oscar grabbed coffee, and a few minutes later they were back on the street with warm takeaway cups in their hands.

The walk back to the hotel felt slower now.

Comfortable.

When they pushed open the hotel door and stepped back into the elegant lobby, the receptionist looked up from behind the desk.

She smiled immediately when she saw them.

Lando suddenly became very aware of the fact that they were walking arm in arm.

Takeout cups in hand.

Looking very much like they had just come back from a morning run date together.

He decided not to think too hard about that.

They climbed the stairs back toward their room, Lando already fantasizing about collapsing into the bathtub upstairs.

His muscles were tight from the run, his legs felt heavier with every step, and the thought of a long, hot soak and maybe even a massage sounded like absolute heaven.

But he knew they probably didn’t have the time.

The realization sat quietly somewhere in the back of his mind.

This little trip.

These moments.

They weren’t endless.

And Lando didn’t want to waste a second of the time he still had left with Oscar.

The quiet of the room was broken by the sudden ringing of Lando’s phone.

He paused mid-movement, a shirt halfway folded in his hands. For a second he considered ignoring it.

He had ignored quite a lot of messages over the past few days.

Eventually guilt won.

He set the shirt back down on the bed and reached for the phone lying near the pillow. The screen lit up as he picked it up.

Carlos.

Lando winced slightly.

Yeah, that made sense.

He answered quickly, bringing the phone to his ear as he leaned back against the edge of the bed.

“Hiya.”

“Landito,” came the familiar voice immediately, warm but direct as always. “You haven’t answered my texts. Are you alright?”

Carlos never really bothered with small talk when he was worried.

“Yeah, mate, I’m good,” Lando said quickly. “Sorry. I’ve just been… busy.”

He glanced briefly around the room, as if the place itself might explain the past few days.

There was a pause on the other end.

Then Carlos chuckled softly.

“No worries. I just wanted to make sure you hadn’t disappeared somewhere.”

Lando rubbed the back of his neck.

“Not yet.”

“Well,” Carlos continued, “I was calling to see if you’re up for padel tomorrow. Just a little get-together before the season starts again.”

Lando closed his eyes for half a second.

Normally he would have jumped at that.

It sounded exactly like the kind of thing he’d enjoy—seeing the boys, messing around on the court, easing back into the chaos before the season kicked off.

But right now?

Right now he couldn’t imagine wanting to be anywhere other than where he was.

“I’d love to,” he said.

The lie came out far too smoothly.

“But I’m already in Australia. Decided to come a bit early to fight the jet lag and all.”

“Ah,” Carlos laughed on the other end. “Cheating the system, I see.”

“Exactly,” Lando said with a small grin.

He leaned back on his hands, staring up at the ceiling for a moment.

“I’ll have the advantage when everyone else is dying the first few days.”

“Smart,” Carlos replied. “Very strategic of you.”

The bathroom curtain rustled behind him just then.

Lando glanced over his shoulder.

Oscar stepped out from the bathroom area, hair still damp from the shower, sleeves rolled up slightly as he dried his hands on a towel.

He looked over at Lando and raised an eyebrow in silent question.

Who’s that?

Lando mouthed back quickly.

“Carlos.”

Oscar nodded slowly in understanding but lingered there for a moment, leaning casually against the dresser.

Lando’s attention snapped back to the call.

“Sorry mate, but I’ve gotta go,” he said quickly. “I’ll see you over the weekend.”

He didn’t even wait for Carlos to reply before hanging up.

The phone dropped onto the bed beside him.

For a second he just sat there.

Then he looked up at Oscar.

“Everything alright?” Oscar asked as he zipped up his bag, tossing the last few things inside before setting it by the door.

“Yeah,” Lando said, picking up the shirt he’d abandoned earlier and folding it again, a bit slower this time. “He just wanted to know if I’m up for padel tomorrow.”

Oscar hummed in acknowledgement, slipping his phone into his pocket.

“Sorry for weaponizing your time.”

He didn’t sound sorry in the slightest.

If anything, he sounded quietly pleased with himself.

Lando snorted softly.

“I’ll see him for the better half of the year,” he said with a small smile. “It’s fine.”

And honestly, he wasn’t sorry either.

Not even a little.

They finished packing quickly after that, and within half an hour Oscar was already ushering them out of the room and down the stairs again, clearly eager to get moving.

They checked out, dropped the key at the desk, and stepped back into the morning air.

The town was fully awake now.

Shops were open, people were walking along the sidewalks, and the smell of fresh bread drifted from a small bakery just down the street.

Lando slowed instantly.

“Breakfast?” he suggested hopefully.

Oscar followed his gaze.

Five minutes later they were back in the car with a paper bag full of pastries and two hot drinks balancing in the cup holders.

The car filled with the warm smell of butter and sugar as Lando pulled out a croissant, tearing off a piece before leaning back comfortably in his seat.

And then they were on the road again.

The first hour passed quietly.

Lando spent most of it hunched slightly over his phone, catching up on the messages and emails he had neglected over the last few days.

There were a lot of them.

Team updates.

PR reminders.

Friends asking where he had disappeared to.

It was, in his professional opinion, a massive pain in the ass.

By the time he finally locked his phone and tossed it onto the dashboard, he looked ten times lighter.

“Why don’t I drive next time?” he offered, stretching his arms a little. “You know, I do have a driving license and all.”

Oscar didn’t even glance at him.

“I’m quite aware of that.”

“But?” Lando prompted.

“But I don’t really like being in the passenger seat,” Oscar said calmly. “So no.”

Lando turned toward him dramatically.

“Awh, c’mon,” he insisted. “Don’t you want to be the passenger princess for once?”

The Brit was itching to show off his driving skills a little.

Oscar finally glanced over.

The smirk on his face appeared instantly.

“No,” he said. “I reckon the role suits you better.”

Lando froze.

Then slowly sank lower into his seat, face heating up instantly.

“That’s not fair,” he muttered, trying very hard to play it cool while very much failing.

“Is there anything you’d like to do in Sydney?” Oscar asked after a while, clearly offering a change of subject.

Lando turned his head slowly, staring at him like he had just said something outrageous.

“You don’t have a plan?”

Oscar chuckled under his breath.

“No. Not really.”

Lando blinked again.

“I figured we could just explore the city,” Oscar continued, shrugging one shoulder as he kept his eyes on the road. “See where we end up.”

“Spontaneous,” Lando teased, leaning back in his seat. “I like it.”

He turned his head slightly toward the window, watching the scenery pass by.

“There’s so many things you can discover about a place just by getting lost in it.”

Oscar hummed in quiet agreement.

The road stretched out ahead of them as they left the smaller coastal towns behind.

The drive from Eden to Sydney was long, but it never felt boring. The highway wound through stretches of forest and open countryside, sometimes climbing into low hills before dipping back down toward the coast again. Every so often the trees would thin out just enough for the ocean to appear in the distance wide and blue under the bright sky.

Small towns passed by occasionally, clusters of houses, gas stations, and roadside shops that flickered by the windows before disappearing behind them again.

Inside the car the atmosphere stayed easy.

Music played quietly from the speakers, something relaxed that blended into the hum of the engine. Lando shifted positions every now and then, sometimes watching the scenery, sometimes scrolling absentmindedly through his phone again, sometimes just talking.

Hours passed like that.

Slow.

Comfortable.

Easy.

By the time the first signs pointing toward Sydney began appearing along the highway, the air in the car had taken on that familiar road-trip feeling half tired, half excited for whatever came next.

“I booked us a room at Hilton!” Lando announced suddenly, turning in his seat with a triumphant grin. He shoved his phone toward Oscar’s face like it was undeniable proof of victory.

Oscar glanced at the screen briefly before looking back at the road.

“Oh,” he said calmly.

“Finally decided to contribute something?”

There wasn’t a hint of real criticism in his voice just the same dry teasing he’d been using all trip.

Still, he leaned slightly closer to glance at the phone again before reaching out and tapping the address into his GPS.

Lando scoffed.

“You didn’t let me contribute before!” he protested. “I had to be sneaky to beat you for once.”

Oscar hummed thoughtfully as the navigation recalculated.

“That explains the suspicious silence earlier.”

Lando folded his arms, still clearly proud of himself.

“I waited for the perfect moment.”

“Very strategic.”

“I know.”

Oscar glanced at him briefly, the corner of his mouth tugging upward.

“You do realize I would’ve figured it out.”

“Not this time,” Lando said immediately.

Oscar chuckled quietly.

“Alright,” he conceded. “You win this round.”

Lando leaned back into his seat, very satisfied with himself.

Outside the car, the highway had started to widen as traffic thickened around them. Signs pointing toward Sydney appeared more frequently now, and the distant skyline was beginning to take shape through the slight haze ahead.

Lando watched it appear slowly on the horizon.

A city meant crowds.

Chaos.

People who might recognize him.

And somehow… the thought didn’t bother him nearly as much as it usually would.

Probably because Oscar was still driving beside him.

They barely spent five minutes in the room.

The car was left in the hotel parking lot, bags dropped near the door the moment they checked in, and neither of them even bothered to properly look around the room before heading back out again.

There was no time to waste if they actually wanted to experience the city.

Sydney felt completely different from the quiet coastal towns they had been passing through.

The streets were alive—cars, buses, people everywhere. Shops spilled onto sidewalks, street performers played music in corners, and the smell of food drifted through the air from restaurants and small takeaway places.

Lando looked around like someone who had just been let loose in a playground.

“Okay,” he said. “Where first?”

Oscar glanced down the street before pointing in the direction of the harbor.

“Let’s start there.”

It didn’t take long before the buildings opened up and the view appeared.

The white sails of the Sydney Opera House rose above the water, bright against the blue sky, while across the harbor the massive steel arch of the Sydney Harbour Bridge stretched between the shores.

Lando stopped walking for a moment.

“Okay,” he said again, quieter this time. “That’s actually insane.”

People moved around them taking photos, tourists pointing excitedly at the landmarks while ferries moved slowly across the water.

Naturally, Lando pulled out his camera again.

“Stand there,” he told Oscar, pointing toward the railing with the harbor behind him.

Oscar rolled his eyes but did it anyway.

After a while they continued walking along the harbor, eventually wandering into the historic neighborhood of The Rocks.

The streets there were narrower, lined with old stone buildings, small pubs, art shops, and outdoor markets. Musicians played near the corners while people browsed handmade jewelry and paintings under shaded stalls.

Lando stopped at nearly every other booth.

At one point he nearly bought a ridiculous-looking souvenir hat before Oscar quietly convinced him that maybe it wasn’t the best idea.

From there they kept wandering with no real plan.

They passed through the wide green lawns of Royal Botanic Garden where people were laying on the grass, picnicking under huge trees while boats drifted across the harbor just beyond the paths.

Later they grabbed ice cream near Circular Quay and watched the ferries come and go, the wind off the water cooling the afternoon heat.

Lando leaned against the railing, licking melting ice cream from his fingers.

“I see why people live here,” he admitted.

Oscar looked out at the harbor.

“Yeah.”

They wandered for hours.

Or at least it felt like hours.

Lando had his camera out almost the entire time, stopping every few minutes whenever something caught his eye a colorful storefront, a street mural hidden in an alley, a tiny café with flowers climbing up the walls.

At one point he suddenly stopped in the middle of the sidewalk.

“Osc—let’s go there!”

He didn’t wait for an answer.

Oscar barely had time to react before Lando grabbed his wrist and pulled him down a narrow side lane.

The place they ended up in was a vintage thrift store tucked between two small cafés. The windows were packed with old jackets, records, lamps, and random decorative pieces stacked on top of each other like someone had emptied an attic into the display.

Inside it was even more chaotic.

Clothing racks squeezed between shelves filled with old cameras, vinyl records, scarves, boots, hats, and little boxes full of jewelry. The air smelled faintly like old fabric and polished wood.

Lando looked like a child in a candy store.

He bounced from rack to rack, pulling things out to inspect them, occasionally holding something up to Oscar like he needed approval.

At one point he wrapped a ridiculously long patterned scarf around Oscar’s shoulders.

“You have to try it,” Lando insisted.

Oscar stared at him.

“I absolutely do not.”

“Look at it,” Lando argued, stepping back to admire his work. “It’s gorgeous.”

“It’s aggressive.”

Lando laughed and finally took it back, tossing it over the rack again.

A moment later something else caught his attention.

“Look at this.”

He pointed toward a small glass tray filled with rings.

Among them sat a gold signet ring with a deep blue stone set into the face. The stone caught the light slightly dark, rich, maybe sapphire.

Or maybe completely fake.

Lando picked it up carefully, turning it between his fingers.

“It suits your eyes,” Oscar said casually.

Lando looked up immediately.

“You think?”

He slid the ring onto his finger.

It fit perfectly.

For a moment he just held his hand up, turning it slightly to watch how the light caught the stone.

His eyes lit up in that quiet way they sometimes did when he found something he really liked.

“You should take it,” Oscar said, watching him.

Lando hesitated.

For a second it genuinely looked like he might.

Then his hand lowered slowly.

“I don’t think it’ll suit anything I own,” he said, sliding the ring back off.

His voice was light, but there was a hint of something else there.

The truth was simpler than he wanted to explain.

Most of what he wore in public was tied to sponsorships. Watches, clothes, accessories everything had contracts behind it.

A random thrift-store ring wasn’t exactly part of that image.

Which was a shame.

He placed it carefully back onto the tray.

“C’mon,” he said after a moment, forcing a small smile.

They wandered around the store a bit longer after that, laughing over ridiculous jackets and strange decorations, but in the end they didn’t buy anything.

Eventually they stepped back out onto the street.

And somehow, without either of them really noticing when it happened, the afternoon slowly slipped into evening as they kept wandering through the city.

The light changed first.

The sharp brightness of the afternoon softened into long golden streaks that stretched across the streets and reflected in shop windows. The air cooled just enough to be comfortable, and the sidewalks filled with people heading out for dinner, drinks, or wherever the night might take them.

Lando felt strangely weightless.

The past few days had built something inside him a quiet, bubbling happiness that made everything feel lighter. Like the world had tilted just a little in the right direction.

So of course his brain went straight to the most chaotic option.

“What about we go to a club?” Lando asked suddenly, turning to Oscar with a grin.

Oscar didn’t even pause.

“Not a chance.”

Lando groaned dramatically.

“Awh c’mon, Osc. I wanna dance.”

Oscar gave him the same look someone might give a particularly stubborn child.

“I’m not really a club guy,” he said patiently. “What about we go to a pub?”

Lando considered it for a moment.

“Fine,” he finally agreed. “But one day I’ll take you clubbing and you won’t say no.”

Oscar huffed a quiet laugh.

“Whatever you want.”

One day.

The words settled somewhere warm in Lando’s chest before he could stop them.

One day meant there would be another time after this.

After this week ended.

After the season started.

It meant they’d keep talking.

Maybe Lando could fly back during a break between races. Maybe he could convince Oscar to visit him somewhere—London, Monaco, anywhere really.

The thought felt reckless.

And hopeful.

They ended up walking into the first pub they spotted along the street.

It was already packed.

The kind of place where the noise hit you immediately—laughter, glasses clinking, conversations overlapping, music humming quietly somewhere in the background. Warm yellow lights hung above wooden tables, and the entire place smelled faintly like beer and fried food.

They managed to claim a small table near the back.

Oscar went to the bar to order while Lando dropped into the chair, stretching his legs out under the table. After a moment he pulled the cap off his head, running a hand through his hair.

He hadn’t realized how much it had been bothering him until it was gone.

A few minutes later Oscar returned with two glasses.

A neat whiskey for himself.

And a vodka soda for Lando.

“Cheers,” Lando said, raising his glass.

The first drink disappeared quickly.

The second went down just as easily.

By the time they were halfway through the fourth, the room had grown softer around the edges and Lando’s words came out a little looser, his laugh louder than usual.

“Man,” he sighed, leaning back in his chair, “I’m gonna miss this when the season starts.”

It wasn’t just the alcohol.

It was the freedom.

The lack of schedules, the early mornings, the endless flights, the constant expectations.

“And the alcohol,” he added with a crooked smile. “Hangovers and constant travel really don’t mix. Learned that the hard way in my rookie year.”

Oscar swirled the whiskey in his glass, watching him with quiet amusement.

“I’m surprised we only had one incident with you being recognized.”

Lando shrugged.

“I was worried a bit,” he admitted honestly. “But logically Formula One isn’t as popular as… I don’t know, football.”

He took another sip.

“And to be honest I’m not the most popular driver out there anyway.”

Oscar looked at him.

“Nowhere near Lewis or Max,” Lando continued casually. “Even Charles.”

He shrugged again.

“I’d put myself somewhere in the middle of the grid popularity-wise.”

Oscar frowned slightly.

“You are popular though.”

Lando shook his head, waving it off.

“Nah. I’m too bad to be popular.”

There was no self-pity in his voice.

He said it the way someone might comment on the weather. Like it was just an objective fact.

Oscar’s expression shifted immediately.

“Don’t say that.”

His voice wasn’t harsh.

But it was firm.

“You’re an amazing driver.”

Lando snorted softly.

“You said you don’t watch races.”

“I said I don’t sit down every Sunday like a fan,” Oscar corrected calmly. “I never said I don’t know what’s happening.”

Lando raised an eyebrow.

“I still keep tabs on the championship,” Oscar continued. “Highlights, results, onboard clips. Stuff like that.”

He took another sip of his whiskey.

“You’re fast. Everyone knows that.”

Lando looked down at his glass.

Oscar didn’t sound like he was flattering him.

He sounded certain.

“The problem isn’t you,” Oscar added after a moment. “It’s the car most of the time.”

Lando laughed quietly at that.

“That’s the most engineer answer I’ve ever heard.”

“Maybe.”

Oscar leaned back in his chair, studying him for a moment.

“But I mean it.”

Lando didn’t answer right away.

Instead he took another sip of his drink, letting the warmth settle in his chest while the noise of the pub hummed around them.

Somewhere inside him, the words landed deeper than he expected.

Chapter Text

Yesterday’s hangover had been bad.

Today’s was worse.

Lando woke up feeling like someone had replaced the inside of his skull with cotton and a small marching band. His mouth was dry, his head heavy, and every tiny movement felt like a bad decision.

But there was one small comfort.

He wasn’t alone in his misery.

For once on this trip, Oscar had slept in too.

They woke slowly, dragged out of sleep by the sun creeping through the uncovered windows. At some point during the night neither of them had bothered closing the blinds, and now bright morning light spilled across the bed, landing directly on their faces.

Lando groaned and turned his head deeper into the pillow.

“Why is the sun so loud?” he mumbled.

Beside him, Oscar made a low sound that might have been a laugh.

Lando cracked one eye open.

That turned out to be a mistake.

Because Oscar looked unfairly good for someone who had also finished half a pub’s worth of alcohol the night before.

His hair was a complete mess, sticking out in every direction. His eyes were barely open, still heavy with sleep, and his movements were slow and uncoordinated as he pushed himself up on one elbow.

And he wasn’t wearing a shirt.

Apparently at some point during the night the room had gotten too warm for him, because the t-shirt he’d gone to bed in was now somewhere on the floor.

Lando stared for half a second longer than he should have.

Then he quickly buried his face back into the pillow.

“Room service for breakfast?” he asked, voice muffled.

Oscar swung his legs over the side of the bed, rubbing a hand over his face.

“Something greasy?”

“Yes,” Lando groaned immediately. “The greasiest thing they have.”

Oscar grabbed the hotel phone and handled the ordering while Lando stayed exactly where he was wrapped around his pillow like it was a life support system.

His brain was not functioning enough to make food decisions.

Once the call ended, Oscar moved toward his backpack that sat half-open on the floor.

A moment later there was the sharp hiss of a can opening.

Then another.

Lando lifted his head just in time to see Oscar walk back toward the bed holding two cans of Monster.

Part of the emergency stash they’d bought earlier in the trip.

Oscar handed one over.

Lando took it like it was sacred.

“You’re my favorite person,” he mumbled before taking a careful sip.

Cold caffeine hit his system like medicine.

Oscar chuckled softly before disappearing into the bathroom.

The sound of the shower started a moment later.

Lando remained exactly where he was for a while, slowly sipping the energy drink and staring at the ceiling while his brain tried to reboot itself.

By the time Oscar came back out, hair damp and wearing clean clothes, the room looked different.

Because he’d already packed.

Both of their bags sat neatly by the door.

And on the chair next to the bed he’d laid out fresh clothes for Lando for the day.

Lando blinked at the sight.

It was ridiculous.

Even hungover, Oscar had managed to shower, pack everything, and get ready before Lando had even fully sat up.

And the annoying part was that Lando could tell he wasn’t feeling great either.

The slight tension in his shoulders, the slower movements than usual, the quiet way he kept pressing his fingers against his temple for a second when he thought Lando wasn’t looking.

He was struggling too.

He was just… pushing through it anyway.

Which somehow made Lando both impressed and mildly offended.

“That’s actually insane,” Lando muttered, watching him.

Oscar glanced over.

“What is?”

“You’re hungover too and you’re functioning like a normal human being.”

Oscar shrugged, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

“Someone has to take care of you.”

Lando blinked at him.

The sentence was delivered so casually it took his brain a moment to process it. Before he could think of something clever or embarrassing to say back, a knock sounded at the door.

Room service.

Oscar got up to grab it, while Lando slowly forced himself upright, dragging the duvet with him like armor.

The smell hit him first.

Greasy, warm, heavenly.

Oscar carried the tray over and set it on the bed between them, and Lando’s eyes practically lit up.

An English breakfast.

The full deal.

Hash browns, crispy bacon, sausages, scrambled eggs, toast and even baked beans. It looked like the kitchen had decided to feed two construction workers rather than two mildly hungover racing drivers.

Lando was instantly in heaven.

“Mate,” he breathed reverently, already reaching for a hash brown, “I think I’m in love.”

Oscar snorted softly, grabbing a fork.

“You say that about food a lot.”

“Because food deserves appreciation,” Lando said with full seriousness before immediately stuffing half the hash brown into his mouth.

For a few minutes they ate in peaceful silence, both too hungry to talk much. The greasy food worked fast, settling the chaos in Lando’s stomach and slowly bringing him back to life.

Halfway through the plate, Oscar spoke again.

“Are you up for a hike today?”

Lando paused mid-bite.

Oscar continued casually.

“Wanted to take you to the Blue Mountains. But I’m not sure if you’re in good enough shape.”

Lando stared at him.

Because honestly?

No.

Absolutely not.

He wanted to spend the entire day in bed, maybe wrapped in a blanket, drinking tea and complaining about his hangover like a Victorian poet.

But the idea of disappointing Oscar made something uncomfortable twist in his chest.

So instead of answering immediately, he took another bite and asked carefully:

“Is it pretty there?”

Oscar looked up.

“It is, yeah,” he said. “Kind of beautiful, to be exact.”

Then almost unconsciously his eyes softened into that quiet hopeful expression Lando had started recognizing.

The same one that made saying no nearly impossible.

Lando sighed dramatically.

“Fine. We can go.”

Oscar’s face immediately brightened.

“But,” Lando added quickly, pointing his fork at him, “we need to pick up tea on the way.”

“Deal.”

“And more energy drinks.”

“Deal.”

“And if I collapse halfway through the hike, you’re carrying me back.”

Oscar grinned.

“I promise I’ll pick the quickest route.”

He looked far too pleased with himself.

After breakfast, Lando finally had enough energy to function like a person again. He took a long shower, letting the hot water wake up his muscles and clear the last of the fog from his head.

By the time he came out, Oscar was already ready by the door.

Of course he was.

They finished packing the last few things and checked out of the hotel. It was already pretty late in the morning by the time they left, but Lando didn’t feel guilty in the slightest.

After all, Oscar had slept in too.

That counted as balance.

They stopped at a Starbucks drive-through on the way out of the city. Warm drinks were handed through the window—tea for Lando, coffee for Oscar and the car filled with the familiar comforting smell.

Then they hit the road again.

The drive out of Sydney slowly traded city streets for wider highways and stretches of green landscape. Traffic faded, buildings turned into small towns, and eventually into long quiet roads cutting through forests and rolling hills.

Inside the car, things were calm.

Oscar drove with quiet concentration, one hand on the wheel, eyes focused on the road ahead.

Lando, meanwhile, drifted somewhere between sleep and consciousness.

His head rested against the window, warm tea in his hands, eyelids heavy.

They didn’t talk much.

But the silence wasn’t awkward.

It was the comfortable kind—the kind that settled naturally between two people who didn’t need to fill every moment with words.

And before long, the city was far behind them.

“Lando, baby.”

The word slipped into his dreams first.

Soft, distant, warm.

Lando stirred but didn’t fully wake until he felt a gentle shake on his shoulder.

“Lan, wake up. We’re here.”

His eyes opened slowly, blinking against the daylight.

The car door beside him was open, and Oscar was crouched next to it, leaning slightly into the car. His voice was still rough with the morning, the familiar Australian drawl thicker than usual.

For a second Lando just stared at him, brain still caught somewhere between sleep and reality.

“Osc?” he murmured, voice groggy. “Am I dreaming?”

Oscar huffed out a quiet laugh.

“Afraid not.”

He held out a hand.

“Come on. A walk will make you feel better, I promise.”

Lando groaned quietly but took the hand anyway, letting Oscar pull him upright. The movement made his head spin slightly, but the fresh air that hit his face helped immediately.

“Yeah… alright,” he muttered, stretching his arms above his head.

Oscar had already grabbed both of their things from the car. His backpack was slung over one shoulder, and Lando’s camera hung securely around his neck like he’d been carrying it for years.

Prepared as always.

Lando rubbed his eyes and followed him away from the car park.

The trail started just beyond a small wooden sign, leading them into the trees almost immediately. Tall eucalyptus surrounded the path, their pale trunks stretching upward while thin leaves rustled softly in the breeze.

The air smelled different here.

Cooler.

Cleaner.

Sunlight filtered through the canopy in soft patches, painting the ground in moving patterns as they walked. The path sloped gently downward, winding between rocks and tree roots, the sounds of the forest growing louder the deeper they went.

At first it was just birds.

Then something else.

A distant rushing sound.

Water.

Lando shoved his hands into the pocket of Oscar’s hoodie and followed a few steps behind him, still waking up properly as they moved further down the trail.

Within a few minutes the trees began to open slightly, the sound of water growing louder and clearer.

They were getting close.

When Lando first saw the waterfall, his brain didn’t fully process it.

For a moment he just stood there at the edge of the path, staring.

The water spilled down a tall wall of dark rock in a wide silver curtain, crashing into the pool below with a constant roar that echoed through the trees. Mist hung in the air, catching the sunlight and turning it into tiny floating sparks.

It was the kind of place that didn’t feel real at first glance.

Quiet, wild, untouched.

Oscar stopped beside him, watching the way Lando’s eyes slowly widened as the scene sank in.

“Told you,” he said quietly.

Lando didn’t answer right away.

Instead, he slowly held out his hand without looking away from the waterfall.

Oscar immediately understood.

He slipped Lando’s camera off his own neck and placed it into his hand.

Lando lifted it, fingers a little clumsy as he adjusted the settings. The hangover still made his movements slightly sloppy, and he had to fight the camera for a moment before everything finally clicked into place.

“C’mon…” he muttered under his breath, turning the lens slightly.

Oscar watched him with quiet amusement.

Eventually Lando straightened and snapped a few photos. Not many—just a handful—carefully framing the waterfall between the rocks and trees.

Then he lowered the camera again.

“Osc.”

“Hmm?” Oscar was already looking at him.

“We need a selfie.”

The seriousness in Lando’s voice made Oscar blink.

“What?”

“A selfie, Oscar,” Lando repeated like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Why don’t we have a selfie together yet?”

Oscar huffed out a quiet laugh.

“Because you have about two hundred photos of everything else already.”

“Not the same,” Lando said firmly.

Oscar shook his head, still smiling, but pulled his phone from his pocket anyway. He stepped closer and wrapped an arm loosely around Lando’s waist to pull him in beside him.

Lando immediately leaned toward the screen to inspect the frame.

“No, no, no,” he said quickly. “You need to get the waterfall in the shot too.”

Oscar lifted the phone higher.

“A bit more to the left,” Lando instructed.

Oscar moved slightly.

“No—too much.”

Oscar sighed softly through a smile.

“You wanna do it?”

There was no annoyance in his voice. Just amusement.

“No,” Lando said. “I want you to do it. But I want you to do it properly.”

Oscar chuckled again but adjusted the phone obediently, shifting their position slightly so the waterfall framed them in the background.

They took one photo.

Lando immediately leaned closer to check it.

“Again.”

Another photo.

“Again.”

Oscar laughed under his breath.

After a few attempts and a lot of micro-adjustments directed by Lando they finally captured what Lando declared the perfect shot.

“See?” he said proudly, lowering Oscar’s phone. “Worth the effort.”

Oscar glanced at the screen.

They both looked windswept, slightly hungover, and a bit sunlit by the mist in the air.

But they were smiling.

“Yeah,” Oscar admitted quietly. “It is.”

They stayed a while longer.

Lando agreed to a short stroll around the area, wandering along the rocks near the water and the small paths that curved through the trees. The damp air helped his headache more than he expected. It was cool and refreshing, and the constant sound of the waterfall drowned out the lingering fuzziness in his head.

Still, neither of them had the energy for a proper mountain hike.

After twenty minutes or so they both silently agreed it was enough.

On the way back up the path toward the car park, Lando suddenly stopped.

“Osc—wait.”

Oscar turned.

Lando was crouching near a sun-warmed rock, camera already in his hands again.

A small lizard sat there completely still, its scales blending perfectly with the stone as if it had grown there.

“Look at him,” Lando whispered like they were observing some rare creature in a documentary.

Oscar leaned slightly closer, careful not to scare it away.

Lando snapped a few pictures, adjusting the angle so the sunlight caught the reptile’s tiny patterned scales.

“Are there any koalas here?” he asked suddenly, glancing around the trees with curiosity.

Oscar rubbed the back of his neck thoughtfully.

“Frankly, I’m not sure,” he admitted. “But we could go somewhere where we’ll definitely see them.”

Lando stood up again.

“Was that in your plan?”

Oscar shook his head.

“No.”

He shrugged lightly.

“But I don’t mind changing it for you.” The way he said it was simple and genuine, like it wasn’t even a question.

Like Lando’s whims were reason enough.

Lando looked at him for a moment before smiling softly.

“No, it’s fine,” he said. “I just like koalas.”

He slung the camera back around his neck.

“They remind me of you.”

Oscar blinked.

“Of me?”

“Yeah,” Lando said casually as he started walking again. “Quiet. Judgy. Eat a lot. Looks cute but probably dangerous if provoked.”

Oscar stared at him for a second before a laugh escaped him. “That’s not what koalas are like.”

“Agree to disagree,” Lando said cheerfully, already heading up the path toward the car park again.

Oscar followed him, shaking his head—but still smiling.

Lando fell asleep the moment he fastened his seat belt.

No warning, no dramatic buildup.

One second he was adjusting the seat and mumbling something half coherent, and the next his head had tipped toward the window, curls pressed against the glass, breathing slow and even.

Oscar glanced over and felt the corner of his mouth lift.

He wasn’t mad.

He couldn’t be, not when Lando looked that peaceful.

The past few days had clearly caught up to him—the traveling, the drinking, the constant moving from place to place. Even now there were faint shadows under his eyes.

Oscar reached forward and quietly lowered the volume of the music before pulling back onto the road.

He knew Lando should probably be resting somewhere comfortable right now.

Not being dragged halfway across the state in the passenger seat of a car.

But Oscar was selfish.

He wanted the time.

Wanted the conversations, the stupid jokes, the quiet moments when Lando forgot he was supposed to be someone famous and just existed beside him like a normal person.

So he drove.

Lando slept through another gas station stop where Oscar filled the tank and stretched his legs. He slept while Oscar grabbed another coffee inside the small convenience store, the bitter smell of it filling the car when he returned.

He slept as the landscape changed outside the windows.

Small towns passed by clusters of houses, closed, bussy Monday streets. Then fields that stretched endlessly along the highway. Then forests again, tall trees lining the road like a tunnel of green.

Every once in a while Oscar glanced over just to make sure Lando was still comfortable.

He hadn’t moved much.

Only once did he shift slightly, curling deeper into the seat and pulling Oscar’s hoodie tighter around himself.

Four hours later, Oscar checked the navigation again.

They were roughly halfway to where he wanted to go.

And his stomach was starting to protest.

Lando would be hungry too once he woke up.

So Oscar slowed the car as they entered the next larger town and pulled into a parking spot near the center.

He leaned across the console and gently shook Lando’s shoulder.

“Lan.”

A small groan.

“Lando.”

Lando blinked awake slowly, eyes squinting behind his sunglasses.

“Are we here?” he asked immediately, voice thick with sleep.

Oscar laughed softly.

“No.”

He nodded toward the street outside.

“But we need to eat something.”

Lando rubbed his face and nodded sleepily.

“’Kay.”

He followed Oscar out of the car without complaining, hoodie pulled low over his head and sunglasses on again, more like armor against the world than anything else.

The town was lively compared to the quiet roads they’d been on.

People walked along the streets, families and couples wandering past small shops and cafés. In the center of it all was a large lake that reflected the afternoon sun, with benches and walking paths circling around it.

Lando looked around slowly like his brain was still loading.

Oscar reached for his hand automatically, threading their fingers together so he wouldn’t drift off into the crowd.

“What do you want to eat?” he asked.

Lando yawned.

“Italian?” the Brit said, the word sounding more like a question than a request.

Oscar nodded.

It didn’t take long to find a small restaurant with a few outdoor tables overlooking the street. The fresh air was a blessing after hours in the car, and neither of them felt like sitting inside.

They dropped into their chairs like two people who had been traveling all day.

Lando pushed his sunglasses up slightly and studied the menu.

He looked awake now.

Or at least functional.

“Bolognese,” he decided after a moment.

Oscar ordered a classic lasagna.

When the waiter left, Lando leaned back in his chair and stretched his arms above his head.

“How long was I out for?”

Oscar took a sip of water.

“We’re halfway there,” he said. “So about four hours.”

Lando blinked.

“Four hours?”

Oscar nodded.

He couldn’t help watching him a little the oversized hoodie, messy curls, the sleepy expression that still hadn’t completely faded.

Lando looked ridiculously adorable.

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” Lando asked, guilt creeping into his voice.

He knew Oscar was used to long drives alone. The Aussie had told him plenty of stories about road trips across Australia, hours behind the wheel with nothing but music and the highway.

Still.

It felt wrong sleeping through half the trip.

Oscar waved it off.

“I already told you the other day it’s fine,” he said gently.

Then he added with a teasing edge,

“Besides, you can’t complain if you’re asleep.”

Lando immediately straightened.

“Oi! I don’t complain.”

Oscar raised an eyebrow.

Lando laughed.

“So are we going back to Melbourne already?”

Oscar shook his head.

“No.”

He leaned back in his chair chuckling.

“We’re staying two more nights.”

Lando’s eyebrows lifted slightly.

“But we’ll be back Wednesday evening,” Oscar added. “So you’ll still get a good night’s sleep before media. I promise.”

That seemed to satisfy him.

Right as their food arrived.

The plates were large, steaming, and smelled incredible.

Lando’s eyes lit up immediately.

“Oh thank god.”

Oscar laughed under his breath as Lando grabbed his fork like someone who hadn’t eaten in days.

“This is delicious,” Lando declared after the first bite, letting out a soft, dramatic moan that made a couple at the next table glance over.

Oscar looked up from his lasagna, amused.

“Yeah?”

He leaned forward without any shame whatsoever and slid his fork straight into Lando’s pasta.

“Hey!” Lando protested immediately, pulling his plate a little closer to himself. “You have your own food!”

Oscar tasted the bolognese thoughtfully.

“Yours is better.”

Lando stared at him in disbelief.

“That’s illegal.”

“Worth it.”

“Well let me try yours then,” Lando said, already reaching over with his fork.

Oscar was faster.

He blocked the attempt mid-air with his own fork like they were fencing.

“You stole mine!” Lando accused.

“Technically I sampled it.”

“That’s the same thing!”

Instead of letting Lando retaliate, Oscar cut a piece of lasagna and lifted it toward him.

Lando rolled his eyes but leaned forward anyway, taking the bite from the fork with a small, shy smile.

He chewed for a moment, thinking.

Then nodded.

“Yeah,” he admitted. “Mine is better.”

Oscar laughed quietly.

By the time they finished eating, Lando looked significantly more alive. Color had returned to his face, and the foggy hangover expression had mostly disappeared.

Oscar paid for the meal before Lando even thought about reaching for anything. The Brit hadn’t brought his phone from the car, and his wallet was still somewhere in his bag.

He only realized once they were already standing outside.

“Wait—did you pay?”

Oscar just shrugged.

“Yeah.”

“You’re not allowed to keep doing that,” Lando said, though there was no real force behind the complaint.

Oscar simply started walking back toward the car.

When they reached it, Oscar opened the passenger door for him automatically.

Lando paused.

“You sure you don’t want to switch?” he asked, nodding toward the driver’s side. “I can drive the rest.”

Oscar shook his head.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

Then he added, softer,

“But maybe keep me company?”

Lando’s smile returned immediately.

“Deal.”

He climbed into the seat, shutting the door behind him.

And for the next four hours, he talked.

About everything.

Once Lando got going, it was almost impossible to stop him.

He told Oscar ridiculous stories from karting days, stories about travel disasters with the team, and moments that had clearly become inside jokes with friends over the years.

He talked about Max Fewtrell and how they had grown up together, about stupid things they did as teenagers and how the idea for Quadrant had been born during the long boredom of the pandemic.

He talked about his siblings.

About family holidays.

And then inevitably about his nieces.

Oscar learned their names, their ages, what toys they liked, and about ten different stories that somehow all ended with Lando being completely wrapped around their little fingers.

Oscar mostly listened.

Occasionally he asked a question, or added a quiet comment, but for the most part he just let Lando talk.

And smiled.

Eventually Lando noticed.

“You don’t talk much.”

It wasn’t criticism.

Just an observation.

Oscar shrugged slightly, eyes still on the road.

“Nah. I prefer to listen.”

Lando tilted his head.

“There’s nothing interesting about you?”

Oscar shook his head lightly.

“Nothing really.”

“Lies!” Lando laughed immediately.

Oscar’s mouth curved in a small grin.

“Okay… maybe a bit.”

He glanced at Lando briefly before looking back at the road.

“But I prefer hearing you talk.”

It was already evening when Oscar finally pulled the car into a small parking lot and turned the engine off.

For a moment neither of them moved.

The sky had started shifting into that soft golden-blue color that only happened right before sunset, the air cooler now after the long warm day.

Oscar stretched his arms over his head before looking over at Lando.

“One last stop for the day.”

Lando blinked, pushing the door open and stepping out of the car.

He looked around immediately.

There was water, sure—but it didn’t stretch endlessly like the ocean did. Instead it was calm, enclosed by land on all sides, its surface reflecting the fading sky.

“Is it the ocean?” he asked, squinting toward the horizon.

Oscar walked around to the trunk.

“It’s a lake,” he said simply, opening it.

He reached inside and grabbed Lando’s camera before tossing the strap gently toward him.

“You’ll want this.”

Lando caught it with practiced ease, already lifting it up and checking the lens like a reflex.

“Okay now I’m intrigued.”

They started walking along the shore, the gravel path crunching softly beneath their shoes.

The place was peaceful in that quiet evening way yachts gently rocking in the water beside wooden docks, their masts clinking faintly in the breeze. A few people lingered along the marina, but it was mostly calm, the busy part of the day already over.

Lando had his camera out the entire time.

Click.

Click.

Click.

He captured the boats, the reflections on the water, the sky slowly turning orange and pink above the lake.

Eventually they reached a small ferry station at the end of the dock.

Lando lowered his camera.

His brows lifted in curiosity.

“Oh?”

A ferry was already waiting there, gently bobbing against the pier.

Oscar walked straight toward it.

Lando followed, slightly confused but clearly entertained by the mystery.

They boarded just before the ramp was pulled up.

“Where are we going?” Lando asked, leaning slightly over the railing while snapping a few more photos of the water as the ferry slowly began moving.

Oscar leaned against the side of the boat beside him.

“You’ll see soon.”

There was a smug little smirk on his face.

“The ride only takes a few minutes.”

He glanced at Lando.

“Be patient.”

So Lando was.

For about twenty seconds.

Then he started bouncing lightly on his feet, camera still hanging around his neck as he looked out across the lake like an overly curious kid waiting for a surprise.

Lando stayed somehow patient through the entire fifteen-minute walk Oscar led him across the island.

Which, for Lando, was an impressive achievement.

They passed small houses first—quiet vacation homes tucked between tall trees, warm lights glowing through windows as evening settled in. Gravel paths curved between gardens and wooden fences, the kind of peaceful place that felt miles away from any city.

Then the houses disappeared.

The path narrowed into a proper hiking trail.

Lando narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

“Oscar,” he whisper-shouted dramatically, “I told you not to change the route.”

But the accusation completely lost its strength the moment he looked up.

Two koalas were sitting in the branches of a eucalyptus tree just a few meters away.

One of them was curled lazily against the trunk, eyes closed like it had absolutely no interest in the world.

The other was very much awake, happily munching on a leaf with slow, content movements.

Lando froze.

Then he grabbed Oscar’s arm.

“Oscar!”

His voice dropped into an excited whisper.

“Oh my god.”

Oscar crossed his arms, watching him with quiet amusement.

“I didn’t change the route.”

Lando shot him a skeptical look over his shoulder.

“Yeah right.”

“We were in Canberra like planned,” Oscar continued calmly. “Ate dinner there. Then drove further.”

Lando stared at him like he didn’t believe a word of it.

But he was already lifting his camera.

Click.

Click.

Click.

He took photo after photo, adjusting the lens, crouching slightly to get a better angle.

The koalas didn’t seem bothered at all.

As they continued along the trail, Lando kept stopping every few meters.

There was wildlife everywhere.

Bright birds hopping between branches. A wombat slowly waddling through the underbrush. And when the path opened into a wider grassy area, a couple of kangaroos grazing calmly in the fading sunlight.

Lando looked like a kid in a candy store.

“This is the best trip of my life,” he declared happily, lowering the camera for a moment.

Oscar glanced at him.

“Yeah?”

There was a small smile on his face.

“I’m glad.”

By the time they made their way back toward the ferry station, the sun was almost gone. The sky had turned deep purple and gold over the water, the marina lights beginning to flicker on one by one.

Naturally, Lando immediately spotted the small gift shop near the shore.

And naturally, he dragged Oscar inside.

“Oscar look!”

He pointed excitedly at a small display near the counter.

Tiny koala keychains hung from a wooden rack.

“We should get matching ones.”

Oscar had barely opened his mouth when Lando was already rummaging through the display, carefully inspecting each little plush.

“Ah!”

He suddenly held two up triumphantly.

They were clearly handmade, crocheted from soft yarn.

One koala was wrapped around a tiny branch, eyes closed like it had fallen asleep mid-hug.

The other was holding a small green leaf in its paws.

“This one is for you,” Lando declared, holding up the sleeping one. “Because I sleep a lot.”

Then he held the other one to his chest.

“And this one is mine. Because you like to eat.”

Oscar blinked.

Then laughed quietly.

“Whatever you want, Lan.”

Lando paid before Oscar could even think about it.

“It was my idea,” he said firmly when Oscar gave him a look. “And it’s a thank you gift. So you’re not allowed to complain.”

Oscar didn’t argue.

By the time they got back to the mainland and found a small apartment to stay in for the night, exhaustion had fully caught up to both of them.

Oscar especially.

He didn’t say it out loud, but Lando could see it in the way his shoulders slumped slightly and how slow his movements had become after a full day of driving.

They showered quickly, taking turns in the small bathroom.

The hot water washed away the dust of the day and the smell of the road.

When Lando came back out in comfortable clothes, he pointed at the TV mounted on the wall across from the beds.

“Wanna watch a movie?”

Oscar was already half sprawled across one of the beds.

“Mhmm.”

That was all the answer he gave as he adjusted the pillows behind his head.

Lando dug through their bags for snacks—cookies, a few leftover gummies from earlier stops and then completely ignored the second bed.

Instead, he climbed onto Oscar’s.

“Move,” he said casually, nudging him with his shoulder.

Oscar shifted without complaint.

Lando turned on the TV and picked something random, neither of them really paying attention to what it was.

They lay side by side, eating cookies and not caring at all that crumbs were getting everywhere—on the blankets, their shirts, probably the pillows too.

It felt easy.

Comfortable.

At some point during the movie, Oscar shifted slightly.

An arm draped lazily across Lando’s waist.

Lando glanced down.

Oscar was already asleep.

His breathing was slow and steady, head turned slightly toward him.

Lando smiled faintly.

“Night, Osc,” he whispered.

He reached over and turned the TV off, the room falling into quiet darkness.

The other bed sat untouched across the room.

Lando looked at it briefly.

Then he settled deeper into the mattress instead.

In the morning, they could just say they’d both accidentally fallen asleep during the movie.

Nobody needed to know it had been completely intentional.

Chapter Text

Lando woke up to the bed shifting.

And then—

cold.

His heat source was gone, and he didn’t like that one bit.

“Osc?” he mumbled, eyes barely open.

Oscar looked over at him, already half-ready, expression soft.

“I’m just going for a run,” he said quietly. “You can go back to sleep.”

Lando blinked a few times, then pushed himself up on his elbows, rubbing at his eyes, trying to wake up properly.

“I’ll go with you.”

Oscar paused mid-movement, turning to look at him fully now.

“You sure?”

“Yeah.” Lando sat up properly this time, swinging his legs off the bed. “You make me look like an amateur.”

It was meant to be a joke.

But it landed heavier than he intended.

Oscar watched him for a second.

“These are your last days of vacation,” he said simply. “You’re allowed to rest.”

Lando nodded, but the words didn’t fully settle.

Because resting had never come easily to him.

Even when he was resting, his mind had a habit of running ahead—training, performance, what he could be doing better.

What he should be doing.

Especially during the off-season.

Especially when his body was tired, but his head refused to switch off.

He pushed the thought away before it could spiral.

“I’m coming,” he said again, softer this time, already standing up.

Oscar didn’t argue after that.

Lando moved quickly through the bathroom, splashing cold water on his face, dragging his hands through his curls in a half-hearted attempt to fix them. It wasn’t about discipline this time.

Not really.

It was about time.

About the quiet, growing awareness that it was running out.

And he wanted to spend as much of it with Oscar as he could.

The air outside was fresh, slightly damp from the ocean nearby.

It helped.

Woke him up faster than anything else could.

They started at an easy pace, side by side, their steps falling into rhythm without needing to think about it.

It was… steady.

Comfortable.

Very different from the last time no pounding headache, no sluggish limbs, no complaints every five seconds.

This time, Lando actually kept up.

More than that he enjoyed it.

They started racing at some point, neither of them announcing it, just picking random targets—a tree, a rock, a bend in the path and pushing each other to get there first.

Laughing the whole way through.

By the time they slowed down near the beach, Lando bent slightly forward, hands on his knees, catching his breath.

“I forgot my watch,” he said between breaths. “Now Jon won’t believe me I actually ran.”

Oscar huffed out a quiet laugh beside him.

“I can send you a screenshot from mine.”

Lando straightened, looking at him with a grin.

“Yeah? You’d fake evidence for me?”

Oscar shrugged, completely unfazed.

“Of course.”

That—

that did something to Lando.

Something small, but warm.

He looked out toward the water, the early light reflecting off the surface, then back at Oscar.

Still smiling.

Still there.

For now.

“You didn’t complain once,” Oscar pointed out as they jogged back toward the apartment.

Lando shot him a look.

“I came willingly this time!” he argued, slightly out of breath but still defensive.

Oscar just huffed a quiet laugh, clearly unconvinced.

The morning felt… easy.

Warm in that soft, early way, the kind that made everything slower, calmer. No rush, no pressure just the two of them falling back into step like they had been doing it for years.

Back at the apartment, they moved around each other naturally, packing their things without really needing to speak.

Lando folded his clothes with questionable precision, occasionally getting distracted, while Oscar was—unsurprisingly—efficient, everything neat and done in half the time.

“So what’s next?” Lando asked, glancing over at him curiously.

“You’ll see,” Oscar said, a smirk tugging at his lips. “But we should eat something light for breakfast.”

Lando immediately frowned.

“Osc, you can’t keep secrets from me.”

“It’s not a secret,” Oscar laughed, zipping up his bag. “Just a surprise.”

Lando narrowed his eyes at him.

“I don’t like surprises.”

“That’s a lie.”

“…Okay, I like good surprises.”

Oscar just shook his head, amused.

“Ready?”

They didn’t go far before stopping to grab food.

Lando insisted on picking something himself, scanning the options before settling on a chicken salad which, objectively, was not very breakfast-like, but he didn’t care.

Oscar, meanwhile, chose a wrap.

Which—

“Light, yeah?” Lando eyed it suspiciously.

Oscar didn’t even look guilty.

“It is light.”

“That’s a full meal.”

“It’s balanced.”

Lando snorted but didn’t argue further, already taking a bite of his own food.

They ended up eating in the car.

Apparently that was a rule.

“Not a real road trip if you don’t eat at least one meal in the car,” Oscar had said, like it was a universal law.

Lando had no experience in that field, so he accepted it without question.

Sitting sideways in his seat, container balanced carefully, he glanced over at Oscar between bites.

Driving one-handed.

Eating with the other.

Completely relaxed.

Like this was second nature to him.

And honestly it was.

Lando smiled slightly to himself, turning back to the window as the scenery started passing by again.

Another day.

Another place.

The ride was surprisingly quick.

Lando barely had time to properly settle before Oscar was already pulling into a sleek driveway, the car coming to a smooth stop in front of a luxury apartment complex that looked… expensive.

Like really expensive.

Clean glass, polished stone, the kind of place that didn’t need to try to impress anyone because it just did.

Lando glanced up at it, then back at Oscar.

“You’ve been holding out on me,” he muttered under his breath.

Oscar didn’t comment, just stepped out of the car and moved around to grab their bags from the back.

Lando followed, still looking around as if trying to figure the place out.

Oscar set the bags down beside him before straightening.

“Can I trust you to stay put for a while?” he asked.

Lando blinked.

“You’re leaving me?” he gasped, hand coming up to his chest in mock offense.

Oscar just chuckled.

“Don’t be dramatic. It’s only for half an hour. At most.”

“I—no.” Lando said, the answer slipping out before he fully thought it through.

Oscar paused, one brow lifting slightly, clearly amused.

“No?”

Lando shifted his weight, suddenly a bit more aware of how that sounded.

“It’s for your surprise,” Oscar added, like that explained everything.

“No,” Lando repeated, this time firmer. “I don’t want a surprise if it means you leaving me.”

That made Oscar look at him properly.

For a second, something softer passed through his expression—something that didn’t match the teasing tone from before.

“Lan,” he said, a little quieter now, “I’ll be back soon. Okay? I promise.”

Lando hesitated.

He didn’t even fully know why he didn’t like the idea so much.

It was just after the past few days being left behind suddenly didn’t feel so simple.

“You can check out the jacuzzi while I’m out,” Oscar added casually, like he was offering a distraction.

Lando blinked.

“There’s a has a jacuzzi?”

“Yes.”

That shifted things.

“I—” he hesitated again, glancing between Oscar and the building like he was weighing his options, “alright… but if you’re not back in half an hour I’ll be sad.”

Oscar smiled at that, softer this time.

“I won’t be long.”

Lando watched him for a second longer, like he wasn’t fully convinced but he stepped back anyway, letting him go.

Oscar gave him one last look like he wanted to say something else, but didn’t before grabbing his keys and heading back toward the car.

A moment later, he was gone.

And just like that for the first time in this trip Lando was alone.

At least, the first time he was fully awake and aware of it.

The silence settled quickly.

No background music, no engine, no quiet conversation filling the space.

Just… stillness.

Lando stood there for a second, hands in his hoodie pockets, before exhaling softly and grabbing the bags.

“Half an hour,” he muttered to himself as he made his way inside.

The apartment was just as ridiculous on the inside as it looked from the outside.

Spacious. Bright. Minimalistic but somehow still warm. Floor-to-ceiling windows, clean lines, everything perfectly in place.

Lando walked in slowly, taking it all in.

“Of course it has a jacuzzi,” he mumbled, dropping  their bags near the couch.

He wandered through the space, peeking into rooms like he was exploring something unfamiliar.

Bedroom.

Bathroom—

And there it was.

The jacuzzi.

“Okay,” he said to no one, nodding to himself. “That’s actually insane.”

For a moment, he considered it.

Actually using it.

Then shook his head, running a hand through his hair.

Instead, he drifted back into the main room, picking up his phone out of habit only to pause.

No messages he cared about right now.

No one he wanted to talk to.

Which was… new.

He dropped the phone back onto the table and walked over to the window instead, looking out at the view.

Arms loosely crossed.

Waiting.

Not bored.

Not exactly restless.

Just aware.

Of the quiet.

Of the fact that Oscar wasn’t there.

And how quickly he’d gotten used to that not being the case.

The time couldn’t have moved slower but as promised, Oscar walked back into the apartment exactly twenty-six minutes after he’d left.

Not that Lando counted.

“Why is there a jacuzzi in here?” was the first thing Lando asked.

Oscar barely spared him a glance before moving to their bags, already packing his backpack.

“Figured we’ll need it.”

“Why?”

Oscar paused for just a second, then glanced at him something amused flickering across his face.

“Relax,” he said lightly, “Not for whatever you’re thinking, don’t worry.”

Lando choked on absolutely nothing.

“I—what?! It did not—”

Oscar’s lips twitched, clearly enjoying himself now, before he went back to packing like nothing happened—taking things out, putting others in, like he had a very specific plan in mind that Lando was definitely not part of.

“Oscaaaaar,” Lando whined, dragging his name out, now flustered and demanding answers.

“Come on,” Oscar said finally, zipping the bag and straightening up. “You’ll see for yourself.”

Lando was practically buzzing during the short drive.

It wasn’t even ten minutes, but it felt longer with the way Oscar kept completely quiet about where they were going.

Which only made it worse.

“Are we close?”

“No.”

“Is it food?”

“No.”

“Is it—”

“Lan.”

“Fine.”

But he was smiling.

They parked near a beach.

That part, at least, wasn’t new. They’d been following the coastline for most of the trip anyway.

What was new was how empty it was.

No people.

No noise.

Just the sound of the ocean and the wind.

Lando stepped out, glancing around curiously, trying to piece it together.

Oscar still didn’t say a word.

Not when he grabbed the blanket.

Not when he spread it out on the sand.

Not even when he handed Lando a pair of swimming trunks.

“Are we having a picnic on the beach or something?” Lando guessed, squinting at him.

Oscar just shook his head and gestured past him.

Lando turned and finally noticed the surfboard stand.

He’d seen it when they pulled in.

Just hadn’t really registered it.

“Huh?” He tilted his head, trying to connect the dots.

“These are ours for today.”

“What?”

“You wanted to learn how to surf.” Oscar raised a brow, an amused look on his face. “So I’m teaching you.”

“What?” Lando blinked at him. “I didn’t mean now!”

“What’s wrong with now?”

“I don’t know, but—but you had a plan for the trip, you—you can’t just change it because I mention something on a whim!” The words came out fast, tripping over each other.

Because that wasn’t the point.

Lando knew himself.

Knew he was a lot sometimes.

Complaining, asking, wanting—

But he didn’t want Oscar to bend everything around him.

Didn’t want to be that person.

Didn’t want to be a burden.

“Lan, slow down.”

Oscar stepped closer, placing his hands on Lando’s shoulders, grounding him.

“It’s alright. The trip didn’t really have a plan to begin with.

“Yes it did!” Lando protested immediately. “You told me about it.”

“And I changed it,” Oscar said simply.

There was no hesitation in his voice.

“That’s the best part of road trips. You can change plans whenever you want.” His grip softened slightly. “And I wanted to change it for you.”

“But—”

“No buts.”

His tone was still gentle.

Just firm enough to stop Lando spiraling again.

“I’ve done this route a thousand times before,” he continued. “I can do it again whenever I want.”

He held his gaze.

“It’s your first time. And I want you to have fun.”

Something in the way he said it—steady, certain made it hard to argue.

“If you want koalas,” Oscar went on, quieter now, “I’ll find a place with koalas.”

Lando didn’t look away.

“If you want to learn how to surf, I’ll find a beach that’s good for it.”

His hands were still resting on his shoulders.

Grounding.

“And if you want to go on a cruise, I’ll find a cruise next.”

There was the faintest hint of a smile there now.

But his eyes stayed serious.

Honest.

Lando just… watched him for a moment.

Because it wasn’t just what he was saying.

It was how easily he said it.

Like it wasn’t a sacrifice.

Like it wasn’t a big deal.

Like Lando wasn’t too much.

“Okay,” he said finally, quieter now.

Then, after a small breath—

“Yeah.”

Oscar tilted his head slightly.

“Yeah?”

Lando nodded.

A little more certain this time.

“Yeah.”

They stayed like that for a moment longer.

Just breathing.

Letting everything settle.

And once Oscar was sure Lando wasn’t about to spiral again, he gave his shoulders a small squeeze before taking his hand and leading him toward the boards.

“Can I have the yellow one?” Lando asked, still a bit embarrassed, his voice softer than before.

“It’s yours,” Oscar chuckled like it was obvious, grabbing a plain white one for himself. “Did you surf before?”

“Danny tried to teach me,” Lando grimaced. “But it was awful. He spent half the time laughing at me and the other half falling into the water himself.”

“I won’t laugh at you,” Oscar promised.

His eyes betrayed him immediately.

“Liar!”

“I swear,” he said again, more serious this time. “But I won’t promise not to fall into the ocean. I told you—I’m not that good.”

Lando narrowed his eyes at him.

“Great. I’m in safe hands.”

They carried the boards down to the water, the sand warm under their feet, the ocean stretching out calm but alive in front of them.

Oscar stopped a few steps before the waterline, setting his board down.

“Alright,” he said, switching into a tone that was suddenly a bit more focused. “Basics first.”

Lando mirrored him, dropping his board and looking at him expectantly.

“You don’t start standing,” Oscar explained. “That’s the mistake everyone makes.”

“Good, because that sounds impossible already.”

Oscar ignored that.

“You start by paddling. You lay on the board—here.” He gestured, then demonstrated, lying flat on his stomach, hands placed near his ribs.

“Keep your chest slightly up so the nose doesn’t sink,” he continued. “And you paddle like this—”

He moved his arms in alternating strokes through the air.

“Like swimming?”

“Kind of, yeah. But slower. Controlled.”

Lando nodded like he understood.

He did not.

“Then when you feel the wave push you,” Oscar went on, pushing himself up slightly on the board, “you pop up.”

“Pop up,” Lando repeated skeptically.

Oscar demonstrated in one smooth motion hands pressed to the board, feet stepping under him quickly, rising into a low stance.

It looked effortless.

Of course it did.

“You’re joking.”

“It’s not that hard.”

“It looks hard.”

Oscar got off the board and crouched next to Lando’s.

“Try it on the sand first.”

“Oh, that’s humiliating.”

“Lan.”

“Fine.”

Lando laid down on the board, adjusting himself awkwardly.

“Okay, what now?”

“Hands here,” Oscar said, gently moving them into place near his chest. “Elbows in.”

Lando tried.

“And then just… jump?”

“Push up and bring your feet under you in one motion.”

“That’s not helpful.”

“Just try.”

Lando pushed up, his foot slipped and he sort of… flopped sideways off the board onto the sand.

Oscar looked away immediately.

“Don’t you dare.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were about to.”

“I wasn’t.”

Lando pointed at him accusingly from the ground.

“You’re enjoying this.”

“Maybe a little.”

“Unbelievable.”

After a few more attempts some better, most not Oscar finally nodded.

“Okay. Good enough.”

“Good enough?” Lando sat up, offended. “That was not good enough.”

“You’ll learn faster in the water.”

“That feels like a lie.”

“It’s not.”

Oscar grabbed his board and started walking toward the waves.

Lando hesitated for half a second—then followed.

The water was cold again.

Not as shocking as before.

Still offensive.

“Why is the ocean like this?” he complained as it reached his knees.

“Stop thinking about it.”

“I am thinking about it, it’s freezing.”

Oscar just kept going until the water was about waist-deep.

“Alright,” he said, turning to him. “Get on the board.”

Lando climbed on, wobbling immediately.

“This feels unstable.”

“It is unstable.”

“Great.”

“Start paddling.”

Lando awkwardly began moving his arms.

“Not like that,” Oscar corrected, adjusting his arm slightly. “Long strokes.”

“This is harder than it looks.”

“Everything is harder than it looks.”

A small wave rolled under them, lifting the board slightly.

Lando froze.

“Oh—oh no—”

“You’re fine.”

“I’m not fine—”

“Keep paddling.”

Another small wave came.

This time Oscar gave his board a light push.

“Now! Try to stand!”

“I’m going to die—”

“Lan—now!”

Lando pushed up one foot came under him then the other for a split second—he was up.

Actually up.

“OSC—”

And then immediatelyhe lost balance and fell straight into the water with a loud splash.

There was a second of silence.

Lando resurfaced, hair in his face, sputtering.

“I DID IT—”

Oscar laughed.

Properly laughed this time.

“I stood up!”

“For half a second.”

“That counts!”

“It counts,” Oscar admitted, still smiling.

Lando pushed his hair back, beaming despite being completely soaked.

“Did you see that?”

“I did.”

“I’m basically a pro now.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

They kept going.

Attempt after attempt.

Some worse.

Some slightly better.

Oscar fell once too which Lando did not let go unnoticed.

“Oh my.” Lando shouted laughing like crazy.

“I told you I’m not good!”

“You’re worse than me!”

“I am not!”

By the time they finally dragged the boards back onto the sand, both of them were exhausted.

And soaked.

And laughing.

Lando dropped onto the blanket dramatically, breathing heavily.

“I’m never doing that again.”

“You will,” Oscar said, sitting down next to him.

“Yeah,” Lando admitted after a second. “Probably.”

He turned his head slightly, looking at him.

“That was actually… really fun.”

Oscar smiled, softer now.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re an amazing teacher.” Lando smiled, all the earlier tension gone like it had never been there.

Oscar shook his head lightly.

“I taught my sisters how to surf when we were younger,” he said, a small smile pulling at his lips. “Edie and Hattie are just as bad as I am… but the youngest—Mae she’s actually really good.”

“So maybe there is hope for me!” Lando grinned, already pushing himself back up to his feet. “Come on, I need to practice more so I can beat you.”

“That’s not how it works,” Oscar laughed, but he followed him anyway.

They went back in.

This time Lando didn’t hesitate as much when the water hit just hissed under his breath and kept moving, determination written all over his face.

“Alright,” Oscar called from beside him, climbing onto his own board. “Same thing. Paddle first—don’t rush it.”

“I won’t rush it,” Lando said, immediately rushing it.

Oscar snorted.

A small wave rolled in.

“Wait for it,” Oscar said.

“I am waiting.”

“You’re not waiting.”

“I’m—”

“Now.”

Lando pushed up, wobbled and somehow stayed up this time.

Not for long.

But longer.

“OSC—LOOK—”

He lasted maybe two seconds before tipping sideways and disappearing under the water again.

When he came back up, he was laughing.

“I did it again!”

“Yeah, you did,” Oscar said, watching him with a quiet kind of satisfaction.

And they just… kept going.

Wave after wave.

Attempt after attempt.

Lando celebrating every tiny improvement like it was a championship win.

At some point he managed a slightly smoother pop-up, knees less shaky, balance just a bit better.

“Osc!” he shouted again, beaming. “Did you see that one?!”

“I saw it,” Oscar said, smiling, still mostly sitting on his board now, watching more than trying himself.

“You’re not even trying anymore!”

“I am.”

“You’re lying.”

“Maybe I just prefer watching.”

Lando rolled his eyes, but there was no bite to it.

Another wave came.

He turned, paddled, pushed up and this time he actually rode it for a few meters before jumping off on purpose, landing in the water with a splash.

When he came up again, he looked… proud.

Properly proud.

“I’m getting it,” he said, almost surprised.

“Yeah,” Oscar nodded. “You are.”

By the time they finally made their way back to shore again, Lando was completely spent.

He dropped onto the sand near the blanket, chest rising and falling quickly, hair dripping, skin warm despite the cold water.

“I’m going to be sore tomorrow,” he declared.

“You will,” Oscar agreed, sitting down beside him.

“Worth it though.”

Oscar glanced at him.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Lando said, turning his head slightly, smiling at him again—so easy, so bright it almost didn’t make sense.

“Best teacher I’ve ever had.”

Oscar huffed a quiet laugh, looking away for a second, but the smile stayed.

And this time he didn’t argue.

They decided to head back when the sun started to dip lower, painting the sky in warm colours. The breeze had picked up, cooler now, drying the salt on their skin and making Lando pull his hoodie a bit tighter around himself.

“That’s why the apartment has a jacuzzi!” Lando suddenly said, like the realization had just hit him. He turned to Oscar with wide eyes as they walked. “Oscar, you’re actually a genius.”

Oscar just huffed a quiet laugh, unlocking the car.

“Glad you finally caught up.”

They grabbed pizza on the way back, something easy and quick, neither of them even pretending to care about anything remotely healthy. Lando didn’t even try to justify it—after everything they’d done that day, he felt like he’d earned it.

By the time they got back, they were both starving.

They ate straight out of the boxes, sitting cross-legged on the floor at first, then slowly migrating closer to the jacuzzi like it had its own gravitational pull.

And, of course, Lando was the first one to give in.

He was already halfway out of his clothes before Oscar even finished his second slice.

“Unbelievable,” Oscar muttered under his breath, but there was no real bite to it.

A moment later, Lando sank into the water with a relieved sound, the bubbles swirling around him.

“This is nice,” he moaned immediately, head falling back against the edge. “A genius, really.”

Oscar shook his head, grabbing another slice before finally standing up.

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t get too comfortable.”

“Too late,” Lando said, eyes already half-lidded, completely melted into the heat.

Oscar joined him in the tub, the water shifting around them as he settled in.

For a few moments, neither of them said anything.

Just the quiet hum of the bubbles, the warmth sinking into sore muscles, the soft sound of water moving.

Lando had his eyes closed, head tilted back slightly, completely relaxed.

And Oscar—

Oscar took the moment to look.

Really look.

He looked younger like this.

Softer.

The tension he carried so naturally just… gone.

His curls still a bit messy from earlier, the faint stubble on his face, the small scar on his nose catching the light just enough to stand out.

It was unfair, really.

How easy it was to just—

get stuck there.

“Lan, don’t fall asleep,” Oscar said, a bit quieter than he intended, like he was pulling himself out of something.

“I won’t,” Lando mumbled, not even opening his eyes.

Oscar watched him for another second.

“Lan.”

He shifted closer, reaching out to shake him lightly by the arm.

“Mmm?”

Oscar almost joked.

So much for not sleeping.

But the words didn’t come out.

Not when Lando looked like that.

Soft. Warm. Completely unguarded.

“We shouldn’t stay too long,” he said instead, voice gentler now.

“Five more minutes?” Lando murmured, barely moving.

Oscar exhaled quietly, a small smile tugging at his lips despite himself.

“Your definition of five minutes is questionable.”

Lando let out a quiet hum, shifting just enough that his shoulder brushed against Oscar’s.

“Just let me enjoy it,” he mumbled.

Oscar stilled for a second at the contact.

Didn’t pull away.

“Greedy,” he muttered under his breath.

But there was no bite to it.

Only warmth.

And he stayed.

“Five more minutes,” Lando repeated, softer this time, already half gone again.

Oscar let out a quiet breath through his nose, shaking his head.

“Yeah, yeah.”

But he didn’t move.

He stayed right there, letting the warmth sink in, letting the quiet stretch just a little longer than it probably should have.

Another minute passed.

Maybe two.

Lando shifted slightly again, closer this time without really meaning to, his leg brushing against Oscar’s under the water.

“Lan,” Oscar said again, quieter now.

No response.

He reached over, nudging him a bit more firmly this time.

“Alright, that’s it. Out.”

“Mmm—no,” Lando protested weakly, eyes still closed. “I live here now.”

“You’ll turn into a raisin.”

“Worth it.”

Oscar huffed out a laugh.

“C’mon.”

He stood first, the water moving around him as he stepped out, grabbing a towel and tossing another one toward Lando.

“Up.”

Lando groaned dramatically but eventually pushed himself up, moving slower now, like his limbs had forgotten how to work properly.

“This is abuse,” he mumbled, stepping out and wrapping the towel around himself. “I was comfortable.”

“You were asleep.”

“I was resting.”

Oscar just shook his head, grabbing his own towel.

They dried off in comfortable silence, the kind that didn’t need filling.

Lando’s movements were lazy, uncoordinated in a way that made Oscar keep half an eye on him just in case he tripped over his own feet.

Which he almost did.

“Careful,” Oscar said automatically, reaching out to steady him by the arm.

“I’m fine,” Lando insisted, even as he leaned into it for a second longer than necessary.

“Sure you are.”

By the time they changed into something comfortable and made their way to bed, the energy had completely shifted.

Slower.

Quieter.

Lando flopped down first without hesitation, face first into the pillow before turning onto his side.

“I’m not moving ever again,” he declared into the mattress.

“Good,” Oscar said, climbing in on the other side. “Stay there.”

“I will.”

A pause.

Then—

“Can I see your shop tomorrow?” Lando asked curiously.

Oscar glanced at him. 

“I mean… we need to go take Senna anyway. It’s there.”

Lando’s eyes lit up slightly.

“So yes?”

“So yes.”

“Are you changing something again?” Lando asked, propping himself up a little.

Oscar shook his head.

“No. I just park it there when I’m not using it.”

He shrugged lightly.

“Easier than paying for a garage.”

Lando studied him for a moment like that answer somehow made him even more interesting.

“You own a car worth a million—probably more with all the improvements—and you refuse to pay for a garage?” Lando asked, giggling.

Oscar rolled his eyes slightly, though the tips of his ears turned a faint pink.

“Shut up. It’s convenient.”

Lando only laughed harder.

Oscar shifted against the headboard, clearly trying to look unaffected.

“Besides,” he added, a little more defensively, “it’s good for business.”

Lando raised an eyebrow. 

“How?” 

“It sits right outside the shop half the time,” Oscar explained. “People notice it. They ask questions.”

He shrugged.

“Free advertisement. 

Lando snorted.

“That’s your strategy?”

“It works,” Oscar said simply.

Lando studied him for a moment, amused smile still lingering on his face.

“You’re full of surprises, you know that?”

Oscar glanced at him. 

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” Lando said, turning onto his back again, looking up at the ceiling for a moment before glancing back at him. “You act all quiet and serious, but then you’re secretly doing things like using a hypercar as marketing.”

Oscar huffed a quiet laugh.

“It’s not that deep.”

“It is,” Lando insisted lazily. “You’re like… secretly chaotic.”

“That’s a new one.”

Lando grinned.

“Wait until I discover the rest.”

“I’m not as interesting as you think,” Oscar said, shifting slightly against the pillows.

The room was quiet, no outside noise, no cars passing by.

Lando let out a quiet scoff.

“Lies.”

He turned his head toward him, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Mr. Oscar ‘I’ll take you on a road trip you’ll never forget’ Piastri,” he said, giving the name a dramatic flourish like he was announcing a title.

Oscar chuckled softly.

“So you did have fun?”

Lando looked at him like the question itself was absurd.

“Did I—did I have fun?”

He sat up a little straighter, clearly offended by the question.

“Osc,” he said with theatrical disbelief, “I will never have this much fun again.”

Oscar raised an eyebrow. 

“That bad?”

“There were koalas,” Lando began, counting on his fingers. “We went surfing. Had so much food! And there was even a lizard.”

Oscar huffed a quiet laugh.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Lando nodded firmly.

Then his voice softened a little.

“It was… really good. 

For a moment the room went quiet again.

Lando looked at him.

And suddenly the urge hit him strong and reckless.

He wanted to do something stupid.

Something very stupid.

Like lean forward and kiss him. 

The thought made his stomach flip.

So instead, he looked away quickly.

Oscar seemed to notice the shift but didn’t comment.

“Wanna show me the photos you took?” Oscar asked after a moment.

Lando blinked, a little surprised by the request.

“Yeah—sure.”

Oscar slid out of the bed to grab the camera from his bag before climbing back in beside the older. They leaned closer together, the small screen between them as Lando started scrolling.

The first photos were landscapes—wide shots of the cliffs, the forest trails, the waterfall.

Then came the animals.

Koalas curled into trees.

Kangaroos standing in open fields.

Tiny lizard resting on a rock.

Lando narrated half the pictures like a travel guide—pointing out where he’d nearly slipped near the waterfall, explaining how long he’d waited for the koala to turn its head just right, proudly showing off the kangaroo shots like they were professional wildlife photography.

Oscar listened more than he spoke, occasionally leaning closer to get a better look.

Then another photo appeared.

Oscar driving.

Sunlight coming through the windshield, sunglasses on, one hand steady on the wheel. The ocean blurred in the background behind him.

For a moment Oscar just stared at it.

“I look good,” he said, sounding mildly surprised.

Lando’s cheeks warmed slightly.

“Like that wasn’t obvious already,” he muttered quietly.

Oscar glanced sideways at him.

“What was that?”

“Nothing,” Lando said quickly, already scrolling to the next photo.

But the small smile tugging at the corner of Oscar’s mouth suggested he might have heard it anyway.

They kept going through the pictures after that, slower now.

Less commentary.

More quiet.

Their shoulders brushed as they leaned in, the camera resting between them, Lando’s thumb lazily tapping through each frame.

There were duplicates. Blurry ones. Accidental shots of the ground.

Lando didn’t delete any of them.

Eventually they reached the end of the photos.

For a few seconds neither of them moved.

Then Lando turned the camera off and set it on the bedside table.

The room suddenly felt quieter without the small glow of the screen.

Oscar shifted slightly beside him, stretching his arm behind his head.

“Good trip,” he said.

Lando smiled to himself, staring up at the ceiling.

“Best trip.”

Neither of them mentioned that it was over.

But the thought hung quietly in the room anyway.

Soon they would go back to their lives.

Oscar to his shop, his routines, the city he knew.

Lando to the paddock, to races and flights and a calendar that barely left space to breathe.

But for now they were still here.

In yet another city.

Curled up in the same bed, crumbs from earlier still somewhere in the sheets, the faint smell of takeout lingering in the air.

A few days that hadn’t meant to become anything more than a spontaneous road trip had somehow turned into something neither of them quite knew how to define.

And neither of them seemed ready to let go of it yet.

Chapter Text

When Lando woke up, the sun wasn’t even up yet.

The room was dim, washed in that faint grey light that came right before morning. For a moment he just lay there, staring at the ceiling, trying to convince his body to go back to sleep.

It didn’t work.

His body felt strange sore and relaxed all at once, the aftereffects of the day before settling in. Surfing, running, the hot tub… it all caught up with him now, leaving his muscles heavy but loose.

Beside him, Oscar was still asleep.

The Aussie had rolled slightly onto his stomach sometime during the night, one arm thrown loosely over Lando’s waist, breathing slow and even. His hair was a complete mess, sticking out in every direction, and the blanket had twisted around his waist.

Lando watched him for a moment.

Longer than he meant to.

Then an idea formed.

Carefully, he slipped out of bed, moving slowly so the mattress wouldn’t shift too much. Oscar stirred faintly but didn’t wake.

Lando grabbed his phone and quietly searched for the closest place he could get food at.

There was one.

Ten minutes away.

Perfect.

He pulled on the first hoodie he found and slipped out of the apartment, closing the door gently behind him.

The morning air hit him immediately—cool, crisp, fresh in a way that made him breathe a little deeper. The streets were still mostly empty, only a few early commuters passing by, the city not quite awake yet.

It felt… peaceful.

Lando walked slowly, hands tucked into his sleeves, his body lagging behind his thoughts.

The bakery turned out to be a small, cozy place on the corner of a quiet street.

The bakery turned out to be a small, cozy place on a corner street.

Warm yellow lights glowed inside, and the smell of coffee and fresh bread practically dragged him through the door.

He stood at the counter for a moment, considering.

In the end he ordered far too much.

An egg and bacon muffin.

Smashed avocado toast.

A breakfast bowl.

All packed neatly for takeout.

Plus a coffee for Oscar and tea for himself.

By the time he stepped back outside, the sky had started to lighten slightly.

And halfway back to the apartment, the thought hit him.

This was the last day.

Tomorrow he’d be back at the paddock.

Back to work. To meetings. To the team. To the routine of race weekends and travel schedules and endless obligations.

Away from Oscar.

Away from the strange little bubble they had somehow built around themselves over the past days.

The realization sat heavy in his chest.

He tried not to think about it too much as he reached the apartment building.

Lando pushed the door open quietly, balancing the paper bags carefully as he stepped inside.

He was so focused on being silent that he almost walked straight into Oscar.

The Aussie was standing right by the door, halfway through putting his shoes on.

They both froze.

“Where the hell have you been?” Oscar asked immediately.

He didn’t sound angry.

He sounded worried.

Lando blinked, still standing in the doorway.

“I bought breakfast,” he said innocently, lifting the bag slightly like evidence.

Oscar straightened up quickly.

“God, Lando, you cannot just disappear like that.”

His shoulders were tense, like he had been about to rush out the door.

Up close, Lando noticed his face hadn’t even been washed yet. His hair was still wild from sleep.

He had clearly woken up and immediately gone looking.

“It’s fine, Osc,” Lando said lightly, stepping past him. “I’m a big boy.”

He giggled softly as he walked toward the small table to set the food down.

Behind him Oscar’s voice came again.

“Don’t do that ever again.”

Lando paused slightly.

“I woke up and you weren’t there,” Oscar continued, the words coming faster now. “The door was open and I thought maybe I forgot to close it yesterday. Maybe someone took you. Maybe you decided to run away. Maybe—”

He stopped himself mid-spiral.

Lando turned around slowly.

For a second he just looked at him, confused.

Then he walked back across the room and wrapped his arms around Oscar.

The hug caught him off guard.

Oscar stiffened for half a second.

Then he relaxed.

His arms slid around Lando’s waist almost instinctively, pulling him closer as he buried his face into the Brit’s curls.

Lando smelled like outside air, hotel shampoo, and something that was just… Lando.

They stood there quietly.

For a few minutes neither of them moved.

Neither seemed ready to let go.

Eventually the tension eased.

Lando let out a small laugh, his breath warm against Oscar’s neck.

“Who would want to take me anyway?”

Oscar slowly lifted his head.

“I don’t know.”

He loosened his hold just enough to look Lando in the eyes.

“But I bet you’re worth quite a lot.”

A faint smirk appeared on his face.

“Would be an amazing ransom.”

The comment had been meant as a joke.

Lando knew that.

But there had been something in Oscar’s voice that didn’t quite match the words. Something sharp at the edges. Something that hadn’t fully left his tone yet.

The kind of worry that didn’t disappear the second the problem was solved.

And it made something twist uncomfortably inside Lando’s chest.

The way Oscar had been ready to run out the door. Shoes half on. Face not even washed yet. Still groggy from sleep but already preparing to search for him.

The feelings that thought stirred were… dangerous.

“So you do care,” Lando said lightly, trying to laugh.

But the laugh came out slightly forced.

Oscar didn’t seem to notice.

“‘Course I do.”

His hand came up almost absentmindedly, fingers brushing against Lando’s cheek in a soft stroke before dropping again.

Then he nodded toward the table.

“What did you get?”

Just like that, the moment dissolved.

The strange charged feeling in the room disappeared as quickly as it had appeared.

Lando turned, grabbing the paper bags and setting them properly on the small table. Both of them kicked off their shoes before sitting down across from each other.

He started unpacking everything like a proud hunter returning with supplies.

“Okay,” he announced. “We’ve got options.”

He placed the containers one by one.

“Egg and bacon muffin. Breakfast bowl. And…” he lifted the final box slightly, “…avocado toast.”

He looked up at Oscar immediately.

“Do you want the toast?”

He made exaggerated puppy eyes.

Oscar raised one eyebrow.

“Do you want it?”

“I asked first!” Lando protested, lifting his cup to hide half his face.

Oscar just looked at him.

One look.

That was all it took.

Lando sighed dramatically.

“Yes, I want it.”

Oscar chuckled quietly and slid the box toward him.

“Was it so hard?”

He unwrapped the egg and bacon muffin for himself while Lando happily opened the avocado toast like he’d just won a negotiation.

For a few minutes the only sound was quiet eating and the rustle of paper wrappers.

Oscar pulled his phone out with one hand, typing something quickly while holding the muffin in the other.

Lando eventually grabbed his own phone too, curiosity getting the better of him.

The screen lit up with a flood of notifications.

Messages.

Emails.

Team updates.

Sponsor reminders.

He sighed.

Reality creeping back in.

“Finally got my hotel info from the team,” he muttered after scrolling for a moment.

Oscar glanced up.

“Hm?”

“Oh,” he said after a second, nodding slightly. “Yeah.”

He took another bite of his muffin.

“We’ll be back in Melbourne today. I’ll drop you off in the evening.”

The words were casual.

Simple.

But hearing them out loud made the room feel slightly quieter again.

Because suddenly the trip had an ending.

“Are you sure?” Lando asked, watching Oscar carefully. “I can find my own way, you know. It can get a bit chaotic.”

It wasn’t that he didn’t want Oscar to see that part of his life.

If anything, a part of him wanted it a lot.

But the paddock, the team, the attention—it was a different world entirely. Loud, busy, intense. Nothing like the quiet bubble they’d been living in for the past few days.

Oscar didn’t hesitate.

“Yeah, already told you” he said easily. “We’ll take the McLaren to blend in.”

He smiled a little as he added, “I doubt your team would like you getting in a different car.”

Lando snorted softly.

That was… unfortunately true.

And honestly, he knew he was in good hands with Oscar.

The younger man was always thinking three steps ahead, quietly solving problems before they even appeared.

They didn’t rush that morning.

For once.

They packed slowly, partly because they were both still sore, movements just a little stiffer than usual—but that wasn’t really it.

The real reason was quieter than that.

They moved around the apartment in an easy, unspoken rhythm. Folding clothes, zipping bags, double-checking things that didn’t really need checking.

Neither of them said it out loud.

But it felt like they were stretching the time pulling at it, trying to make it last just a little longer.

Eventually, though, there was nothing left to pack.

Nothing left to do.

So they stepped outside.

The air felt different somehow.

Or maybe it was just them.

Oscar walked around the car without a word and opened the passenger door for Lando, like he’d done a hundred times before.

Like it was just another day.

Like this wasn’t anything close to the end.

“Just one stop left,” he said.

Lando paused halfway into the seat.

“We’re going somewhere else?” he asked, glancing up at him.

“Yeah,” Oscar replied, leaning casually against the door frame. “But it’s quick.”

He pushed himself upright again.

“It’s just outside Melbourne. The trip won’t stretch too long, I promise.”

Lando nodded and settled into the seat.

Truthfully, he wouldn’t have minded if the trip did stretch longer.

He wouldn’t have minded if Oscar suddenly decided to drive them in the opposite direction.

Kidnap him.

Keep him hostage somewhere far away.

The thought was ridiculous.

Borderline stupid.

Maybe even a little concerning.

But the truth was… he really wouldn’t mind.

He loved his life. Loved his job. Loved racing more than anything. Part of him was already itching to get back into the car, back into the rhythm of the season.

But leaving Oscar behind?

That part hurt more than he expected.

Call Lando delusional all you want.

He knew there was something between them.

Something quiet and unspoken but very real.

And if they had more time… maybe it could become something more.

Of course, maybe he was delusional.

Because he didn’t even know if Oscar was gay.

He hadn’t asked if he was single either.

The question slipped out before he could stop himself.

“Are you single?”

Oscar blinked at him.

“Am I—what?”

He glanced over with a mix of shock and amusement.

“Of course I am.”

His lips twitched.

“I don’t think my partner would like it if I disappeared for a few days with someone else.”

The word partner landed very intentionally.

Lando noticed immediately.

“So no girlfriend?” he asked, trying to sound casual, like the question meant nothing.

Oscar smirked slightly at the obvious attempt.

“Yeah,” he said calmly “And no boyfriend either.”

Lando felt heat creep up his neck.

“Okay… me too,” he said quickly.

He tried to sound casual, like it hadn’t been a loaded question at all.

“I was just checking.”

It only came out awkward.

Oscar didn’t comment.

He simply kept his eyes on the road, giving Lando the space to recover from the embarrassment. But the small smile sitting on the corner of his mouth said enough.

It wasn’t mocking.

If anything, it looked… pleased.

Lando cleared his throat and leaned back into his seat, pretending to be very interested in the passing scenery.

After a moment, Oscar spoke again.

“So,” he said, tone neutral, “you gonna post the pictures?”

Lando glanced over.

“Not sure,” he admitted. “I’d have to check with my PR first.”

Then after a second he added more honestly,

“But I don’t really feel like sharing this part of my life with the world.”

Oscar turned his head slightly.

“No?”

Lando shook his head.

“Not really.”

His voice softened.

“I want to keep it private.”

Oscar held his gaze for a brief moment before looking back at the road.

“Fair enough.”

It was the first time since they had started the trip that the road itself felt different.

The landscape had shifted.

Now the highway curved along the shoreline, the ocean appearing between stretches of trees and cliffs. Every so often the water would open up completely beside them, blue and endless under the late morning sun.

Lando reached for his phone.

At first he told himself he was just taking a picture of the view.

But when he lifted the camera, he angled it slightly.

Oscar sat behind the wheel with one arm resting lightly while the other held the steering wheel steady. Both hands returned to it occasionally as the road curved.

He was wearing sunglasses today, the dark lenses hiding his eyes.

A plain burgundy T-shirt stretched slightly across his shoulders.

Every now and then, as he adjusted the wheel, the muscles in his forearms shifted subtly under the fabric.

Lando snapped the photo quietly.

Not of the ocean.

Of Oscar driving with the coastline behind him.

Lando never wanted the moment to end.

The drive had been quiet in the best possible way—music low, the ocean occasionally flashing into view through the trees, the comfortable kind of silence that didn’t need filling.

But eventually the car slowed.

“Are we here?” Lando asked as Oscar smoothly reversed into a parking space like he’d done it a thousand times.

“Yep,” Oscar said, killing the engine.

He looked over with a small grin.

“C’mon. Your last adventure of the trip.”

Lando narrowed his eyes playfully.

“You’ll love it.”

That was all Oscar said before getting out of the car.

It wasn’t another nature hike.

Instead, Oscar led him toward a large building that looked almost like a science or technology center modern glass panels, wide walkways, and large signs out front.

Lando slowed slightly, confused, while Oscar walked ahead to the ticket booth.

The Aussie bought two tickets while Lando wandered a few steps away, reading one of the big information banners near the entrance.

Then he froze.

“Osc.”

Oscar turned, tickets in hand.

Lando was staring at the banner like it had personally offended him.

“Is it real?”

“Yes.”

Lando pointed dramatically at the sign.

“What do you mean penguins?”

He turned toward Oscar in pure disbelief.

“Penguins don’t live in Australia! They live somewhere cold. With snow and ice!”

Oscar laughed.

“Nope. They’re really real.”

He walked over and handed Lando his ticket.

“And this is their natural habitat.”

Lando’s jaw dropped.

“What?”

“Little penguins,” Oscar added casually. “Smallest penguin species in the world.”

Lando’s brain clearly short-circuited.

“Can we see them?” he asked immediately.

Then louder—

“Oscar, I want to see them!”

He sounded exactly like an excited child.

Oscar chuckled.

“That’s the whole reason we’re here.”

“Oh my goodness—hurry up!”

Lando was already walking, trying to adjust the strap of his camera as he moved.

Oscar quickly caught up.

Seeing that Lando was absolutely not watching where he was going, he placed a hand gently at the small of his back, guiding him forward so he wouldn’t walk straight into someone.

They passed through the building and out into an open viewing area.

Several small groups had gathered already, standing with guides who were explaining something quietly.

Wooden walkways stretched across sandy terrain leading toward the shoreline.

Lando looked around, scanning everything.

“Don’t we join a tour?” he asked.

Oscar glanced at him.

“Do you want to?”

Lando shook his head immediately.

“No.”

His eyes were already fixed toward the beach.

“I just wanna see penguins.”

Seeing how excited Lando was getting, Oscar decided it was safer to just guide him straight toward the beach.

Otherwise the Brit might actually sprint off on his own.

A wooden walkway led them closer to the shoreline, the air cooler here with the wind coming straight from the ocean. Small waves rolled lazily onto the sand while groups of people stood scattered along the viewing area.

Oscar kept a light hand on the middle of Lando’s back, steering him gently.

Mostly because Lando had completely stopped looking where he was going.

His attention was everywhere else.

Then suddenly—

A tiny blue-grey shape waddled out from between the rocks.

Lando froze.

Then he squeaked.

“Oscar!”

And before Oscar could even react, Lando was already moving.

He hurried down the sand and dropped into a squat a few meters away, camera instantly up to his face like it had teleported there.

Click.

Click.

Click.

He adjusted the lens frantically.

The little penguin waddled along the shore, completely unbothered by its new paparazzi.

Lando leaned forward slightly, trying to get the perfect angle.

“Oh my god,” he whispered under his breath, like he was witnessing something sacred.

Another penguin appeared further down the beach.

Then another.

Oscar stayed back near the walkway, watching.

A quiet laugh escaped him as he crossed his arms.

Lando looked completely absorbed in the moment.

Curled slightly in the sand, hair messy from the wind, camera pressed to his face as he carefully followed the tiny birds with the lens.

Oscar hadn’t originally planned on stopping here.

It had been a spontaneous decision on the drive back.

But watching Lando like this so openly happy, so excited over something as simple as penguins—

Yeah.

It had definitely been the right call.

“Come on, mister photographer,” Oscar said after a while, stepping closer. “Let’s look for more.”

He held out a hand.

Lando took it without even looking up from the penguin he’d been photographing, letting Oscar pull him back to his feet. His knees protested slightly after crouching in the sand for so long, but he barely noticed.

His eyes were still scanning the shoreline.

They started strolling slowly along the beach, keeping a respectful distance from the birds and the little burrows scattered in the sand dunes.

The place was quiet in a peaceful way.

Just the soft crash of waves, the wind moving through the grass, and the occasional small squawk from the penguins.

Every few meters Lando stopped again.

Camera up.

Click.

Click.

He crouched beside a wooden barrier, trying to capture a penguin waddling toward the water.

“Osc, look at him,” he whispered dramatically.

Oscar leaned slightly over his shoulder.

“He’s just walking.”

“He’s waddling,” Lando corrected with deep seriousness.

“That’s different.”

Oscar chuckled softly.

They wandered further along the path where the sand turned into low grassy dunes.

That’s when Lando suddenly gasped.

“It’s so tiny!”

He pointed excitedly toward a small burrow near the grass.

“A baby!”

Oscar leaned closer to look.

A tiny chick sat just inside the entrance, fluffy and grey, blinking slowly at the outside world while one of the adult penguins stood nearby.

Lando dropped into another squat instantly.

“Oh my god,” he whispered like he’d just discovered treasure.

His camera clicked rapidly.

“Look at it,” he muttered. “It’s literally a puffball.”

The baby penguin shuffled slightly deeper into the burrow.

Lando groaned quietly.

“No, don’t go.”

Oscar stood beside him with his hands in his pockets, watching with quiet amusement.

“You’ve taken about two hundred photos already.”

“Each one is important,” Lando defended without even looking up.

Oscar tilted his head slightly, studying him instead of the penguins now.

The wind was messing up Lando’s curls again, pushing them across his forehead while he focused entirely on the camera screen.

He looked… happy.

Not the polished, public kind of happy.

Just real.

Relaxed.

Eventually Lando stood again, brushing sand off his jeans.

They kept walking.

More penguins appeared along the shore—some waddling toward the water, others resting in the grass, a few gathered in small groups like they were having serious little meetings.

At one point Lando stopped again, lowering the camera slowly.

“I can’t believe they’re just… here,” he said quietly.

“Yeah.”

Oscar glanced out at the ocean.

“They come back every evening.”

Lando looked at him.

“You knew about this the whole time?”

Oscar shrugged slightly.

“Thought you might like it.”

Lando stared at him for a second.

Then a slow smile spread across his face.

“You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

Oscar raised an eyebrow.

“How so?”

“You keep casually showing me the coolest things in the world like it’s nothing.”

Oscar looked back toward the penguins.

“They’re just penguins.”

Lando laughed softly.

“They’re penguins, Osc.”

He lifted his camera again.

Click.

And this time the photo wasn’t of a penguin.

It was of Oscar standing there with the ocean behind him, the wind tugging slightly at his burgundy shirt while a small penguin waddled across the sand a few meters away.

“I’m moving here,” Lando announced as they walked back toward the car, a bright, satisfied smile still plastered across his face.

Oscar glanced at him.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Lando nodded decisively, gesturing vaguely toward the coastline behind them. “When I retire, I’ll buy a small house near the beach.”

He seemed to picture it in real time as he spoke.

“I’ll wake up, drink tea on the porch, and then go watch koalas and penguins all day.”

Oscar watched him, his expression mostly neutral, but there was something softer in his eyes.

“Sounds like a solid retirement plan.”

“It is!” Lando said immediately. “And if I start missing racing too much, I’ll just race with you.”

Oscar chuckled at that.

The image of a retired Formula 1 driver casually showing up to race with him somewhere was ridiculous.

But the way Lando said it so matter-of-fact, so certain—made it sound almost believable.

They reached the car, slowing their steps.

Oscar unlocked it but didn’t get in right away.

Instead he leaned lightly against the door, watching Lando for a moment while the Brit kept talking about beaches and wildlife like he was already planning the next thirty years of his life.

It was absurd how much this man had managed to shift things in just a few days.

Oscar had never really thought of himself as someone who would get swept up in something like this.

He’d always been focused on practical things.

School.

Work.

Building his business.

Helping his family when they needed it.

Racing when he could.

Everything in his life had always followed a plan, or at least something close to one.

Relationships had always felt like something for later.

Not unimportant but not something he’d built his life around either.

Of course he wanted a partner someday. Maybe even a family.

But those thoughts usually sat somewhere far in the future.

He’d never expected to meet someone like Lando in the middle of everything.

And it wasn’t just the obvious part—that he was famous, that his life was chaotic and public and constantly moving.

It was the way Lando was so different from him, yet somehow still easy to understand.

Loud where Oscar was quiet.

Had everything put together where Oscar liked to be impulsive.

Open in ways Oscar rarely allowed himself to be.

And yet, despite all of that, the past few days had felt strangely natural.

Easy.

Like they had slipped into a rhythm neither of them had expected.

Oscar pushed himself off the car door and tossed the car keys toward Lando.

Lando caught them midair with an automatic reflex.

“Prove your driving skills, Mr. Norris,” Oscar said as he opened the passenger door. “Gotta see what I’ll be competing with.”

If Lando’s smile could have gotten any bigger, it would have.

He slid into the driver’s seat immediately, like he was worried Oscar might suddenly change his mind and take it back. His hands moved quickly over everything—adjusting the mirrors, shifting the seat slightly, pulling the steering wheel closer.

Oscar watched the whole routine with quiet amusement as he got comfortable in the passenger seat.

Lando connected his phone and waited.

Oscar leaned over slightly and typed an address into the navigation before leaning back again.

And just like that, they were on the road for the last stretch of the trip.

At least… the last one they had planned.

For the first few minutes, Lando drove with almost comical concentration. His shoulders were tense, hands perfectly placed on the wheel, eyes focused so hard on the road it looked like he was trying to solve a complex puzzle.

Oscar watched him for a moment.

Then he smirked.

“Are you always this stiff when you drive?”

Lando glanced at him.

“Fuck off,” he muttered immediately. “It’s stressful.”

Oscar raised an eyebrow.

“Stressful?”

“I’m trying to impress you here,” Lando shot back.

That made Oscar laugh.

He leaned back in the seat, crossing his arms comfortably.

“Lan, relax,” he said. “I know you’re a good driver.”

The words seemed to take some of the pressure off immediately.

Lando’s shoulders loosened slightly, his grip on the wheel relaxing as the car settled into an easy rhythm on the highway.

For a while they drove in comfortable quiet again.

The kind that didn’t need filling.

Just the low hum of the engine, the road stretching ahead of them, the occasional glance—nothing forced, nothing heavy.

Then Oscar spoke.

Almost casually, like it wasn’t something he’d been thinking about.

“I’ve only been to Phillip Island once before.”

Lando glanced at him.

“That’s it?”

Oscar nodded slightly, eyes still on the road.

“When I was little. Family trip.”

A small pause.

“I don’t even remember it properly,” he added. “Not sure if my youngest sister was even born yet.”

Lando turned more fully toward him, brows lifting in exaggerated disbelief.

“That’s actually tragic.”

Oscar huffed a quiet laugh.

“Is it?”

“Yeah,” Lando said firmly. “No wonder you’re so grumpy all the time.”

Oscar turned his head slowly, giving him a look.

“Oh, here we go.”

“You lack tiny penguins in your life,” Lando finished, completely serious.

There was a beat.

Then Oscar shook his head, a soft laugh slipping out.

“That must be it.”

And just like that, the last bit of tension melted out of Lando’s body.

Easy again.

Light again.

The drive toward Melbourne didn’t feel long after that.

Lando slowed as they turned into a quieter residential street lined with apartment blocks.

But the GPS told him to keep going.

He frowned slightly, following it anyway.

The drive didn’t take much longer barely ten minutes before they pulled up in front of a low industrial building.

It was unmistakably a workshop.

Wide garage doors stood open, the sound of tools and low conversation spilling out into the street. Inside, there was movement—people working, cars half-taken apart, the smell of oil faint even from outside.

“Here,” Oscar said, pointing casually.

Lando glanced at him, confused.

“That’s not your building.”

Oscar didn’t answer.

Lando didn’t push—just pulled up toward an empty spot near the curb and attempted to parallel park.

Attempted being the key word.

The Audi ended up slightly crooked, the front wheel just brushing the curb.

Oscar looked at it for a moment.

Then he sighed.

But he didn’t say anything.

Instead he just unbuckled his seatbelt and stepped out.

“I’ll pretend I didn’t see that,” he muttered under his breath.

Lando snorted, climbing out after him.

Oscar grabbed their bags from the back while Lando stretched his arms over his head, back cracking slightly after the drive.

“So,” he said, glancing at the building again, curiosity creeping back in, “is it your shop?”

“Yup.”

Lando adjusted his cap slightly instinctively keeping his head down just a little as he followed Oscar in.

“Hey, Noah,” Oscar called out, voice carrying easily over the noise. “Where’s the Senna?”

A guy working under the hood of a BMW looked up, wiping his hands on a cloth before walking over.

“Well, look who showed up,” he said, breaking into a grin as he reached Oscar and pulled him into a quick, easy hug. “Piastri.”

“Did you get bored of the supercar and went racing with your Audi?” he added, stepping back.

Oscar huffed a quiet laugh.

“Been busy.”

Lando watched the exchange quietly.

It was… different.

He’d seen Oscar around people before, sure but never like this.

Here, he was relaxed. Open. Completely at ease in a way Lando hadn’t quite seen before. There was no hesitation, no carefulness in how he carried himself.

This was his space.

“And who’s that?” the guy—Noah—asked, his attention shifting to Lando.

Lando straightened slightly under the look, instinctively adjusting his posture.

“My friend, Lan,” Oscar said, stepping just a fraction forward.

It was subtle. 

But enough.

Enough to put himself between Lando and the rest of the space.

A small, instinctive barrier.

It was sweet—protective, making sure he wouldn’t get recognised.

But there was something else there too.

Something in the way Oscar held himself.

In the way his shoulders squared just a bit.

Something that felt… almost possessive. 

Lando felt it before he fully registered it.

And for a second, it made his chest tighten in a way he didn’t quite want to examine too closely.

“Chill, boss.” The mechanic put his hands up in a defensive gesture. “It’s in the back, didn’t have space here.”

“Don’t call me that,” Oscar rolled his eyes, already turning away and without really thinking about it, he grabbed Lando’s wrist and pulled him further into the shop.

Lando followed easily.

The place was spacious way bigger than it looked from the outside. Everything was organised, almost too organised for a workshop. Tools lined up neatly on shelves, tires stacked in one corner, three car lifts taking up the main floor. It had that mix of chaos and control that only came from people who actually knew what they were doing.

Oscar led him through a back door, and they stepped out into a parking lot.

There were a few more cars scattered around—but Lando’s attention locked immediately on one.

A bright, almost blinding fluorescent yellow Aventador.

“Woah,” he breathed, slipping out of Oscar’s hold without even noticing. “That’s sick.”

He moved closer, eyes scanning every detail.

“Is it one of your projects?”

“No,” Oscar said simply. “It’s the company car.”

Lando turned to him, completely thrown off.

“The—what?”

Oscar scratched the back of his neck, suddenly looking a bit less composed.

“I’ll tell you about it some other time,” he said, brushing it off a little too quickly.

Too quick.

Too casual.

He was dodging. 

And Lando noticed.

So he let it go.

They made their over to the McLaren instead. 

It was unfair—honestly. 

The way Oscar fit into that car like it was made for him. Like he belonged there, like he always had. Effortless. Natural.

Lando found himself staring a second too long.

He could picture it too easily—Oscar stepping out of a race car, helmet tucked under his arm, hair flattened in that specific way after hours under it. The faint lines from the balaclava pressed into his skin. Fireproofs hanging slightly loose at the waist, sleeves tied. Shoulders broad, posture steady, like the adrenaline hadn’t fully left his body yet.

It was ridiculous how clear it was in his head.

How right it looked.

And that was… slightly concerning.

Lando didn’t even notice when the car stopped again.

They headed toward the building entrance together.

“So,” Lando said as they stepped inside and started toward the stairs, “what’s for dinner?”

Oscar glanced back at him.

“What do you feel like?”

“Something unhealthy,” Lando answered immediately. “I’ve earned it.”

Oscar chuckled.

“Yeah, you really suffered today. Penguins must’ve been exhausting.”

“They were emotionally overwhelming,” Lando defended as they climbed the stairs.

Oscar unlocked the apartment door.

Lando kicked his shoes off the moment they stepped inside, barely making it two steps into the apartment before launching himself onto the couch.

Oscar paused near the door, watching him.

The way Lando made himself comfortable in his space so naturally was… oddly nice.

No hesitation. No awkwardness.

Just immediately at home.

“Alright,” Oscar said after a moment, setting their bags down. “We can have burgers.”

Lando perked up instantly.

“But,” Oscar continued calmly, pulling his phone out, “we’re ordering from Grill’d.”

Lando nodded approvingly.

“That’s acceptable.”

Oscar huffed a quiet laugh and placed the order while Lando scrolled aimlessly through his phone, legs stretched out across the couch.

For a moment, everything felt normal again.

Easy.

Then—

“They want me for a meeting before media tomorrow,” Lando said, quieter this time, eyes still on his screen. “I need to be at the hotel in two hours.”

Oscar looked at him, a small smile on his lips but his eyes gave him away.

“C’mon,” he said after a second, voice steady. “You need to pack.”

Lando nodded, pushing himself up.

He moved slower than before.

Deliberate.

Like if he took his time, it wouldn’t come to an end so quickly.

They packed in that same quiet rhythm they’d fallen into over the past few days passing things without asking, folding, zipping bags, moving around each other without getting in the way.

Neither of them said it out loud.

But they were both dragging it out.

The burgers arrived before they were fully done.

They didn’t bother with plates—just took the bags to the couch, sitting close enough that their knees brushed every now and then.

Neither of them moved away.

They ate in silence.

Not uncomfortable.

Just… full.

Of something neither of them quite knew how to name.

And every now and then, their eyes would meet for a second too long before one of them looked away again.

Food finished, packing finished.

Lando glanced around the flat more than once.

Trying to memorise it.

The couch he claimed within seconds. The kitchen counter they leaned against half-asleep in the mornings. The way the light came in through the windows.

Hoping it wouldn’t be the last time.

Oscar took his bags down to the car, somehow managing to fit everything into the small trunk, shifting things around with quiet focus until it all worked.

Neither of them commented on it.

There wasn’t much left to say.

The drive to the Hilton passed too quickly.

The city blurred past the windows—traffic lights, people, buildings none of it really sticking.

And when the car finally stopped in the parking lot—

Neither of them moved.

Not right away.

The engine was off, but neither of them reached for the door.

The city hummed outside, distant and loud, but inside the car it felt strangely still.

Like time had slowed down just for them.

Lando swallowed.

“Do you want to come to the race?” he asked finally, voice quieter than usual, like he wasn’t sure he should be asking at all.

Oscar turned his head.

Looked at him properly.

Held his gaze for a long moment.

And for a second, it almost felt like he might say yes.

Then he sighed, soft, almost reluctant.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea, Lan.”

And he was right.

Of course he was.

If Oscar showed up in the paddock—as his guest—people would notice. They’d ask questions. They’d start connecting things that weren’t meant to be connected.

It wouldn’t stay private.

And this—whatever this was—felt too important to risk like that.

It wasn’t just about Lando.

It was about Oscar too.

His privacy. His safety.

“Okay,” Lando said quietly.

He didn’t argue.

Didn’t push.

They got out of the car slower than they should have.

Oscar pulled the bags from the trunk, setting them down beside him but instead of stepping back, he lingered.

Just for a second.

Like he was thinking.

Then he reached forward.

And pulled Lando into a hug.

Lando didn’t hesitate.

Didn’t think.

He just stepped in, arms wrapping around Oscar like it was the most natural thing in the world, face pressing into his chest.

Holding on.

Maybe a bit tighter than he should have.

He breathed in, slow and deep, like he could keep a piece of this with him if he tried hard enough.

Oscar’s arms tightened around him in return.

Steady.

Grounding.

“Call me if you have time, yeah?” he said softly, his voice close, almost lost in the space between them.

“Yeah,” Lando answered, barely above a whisper.

He didn’t trust his voice much more than that.

Neither of them moved.

Not yet.

Like letting go would make it real.

Like this would actually end.

And then—

Oscar shifted just slightly.

One hand coming up, almost hesitant, before settling in Lando’s hair.

He leaned down.

Pressed a soft kiss into his curls.

It was quick.

Barely there.

But it said too much.

And Lando felt something in his chest crack open a little at the edges.

He tightened his grip for just a second then forced himself to let go. Because if he didn’t, he wasn’t sure he would at all.

Chapter Text

From the moment Lando opened his eyes, everything felt wrong.

The hotel sheets were too cold. Too crisp.

The air smelled too clean, like nothing had ever actually happened in that room.

Even the quiet felt different—empty instead of peaceful.

And the absence of Oscar—

It was everywhere.

Lando pressed his face into the pillow for a second, eyes squeezing shut like that might fix it somehow.

It didn’t.

He exhaled sharply and pushed himself up, already annoyed.

At everything.

At the team for dragging him back early for a meeting that easily could’ve been an email.

At Jon for scheduling a workout later when his entire body still ached from surfing, muscles sore in places he didn’t even know existed.

At himself for choosing a career that meant this. That meant leaving.

On normal days, Lando didn’t mind media.

He wasn’t one of the drivers who openly complained about it. He could do the smiles, the answers, the same recycled questions over and over again.

But today—

Today the idea of standing there, pretending, felt exhausting.

He’d rather stay in bed.

Stay exactly where he was and ignore the world for a few more hours.

But that wasn’t an option.

It never was.

He didn’t even have time to think about it.

From the moment he woke up, everything moved too fast—messages from the team, reminders, timings. He rushed through the routine like muscle memory, barely present in it.

Shower.

Hair.

Outfit.

Back to being Lando Norris.

Not just Lan.

He stood in front of the mirror longer than usual, fingers running through his curls, adjusting them until they sat just right. Fixing small details no one else would notice.

Because if he looked perfect—

Maybe he’d feel a bit more put together too.

He didn’t.

His phone buzzed again somewhere on the counter.

Another reminder.

Another thing he had to do.

Lando ignored it for a second longer, leaning his hands against the sink, head dipped slightly.

He hadn’t texted Oscar.

Not properly.

Not since they said goodbye.

There just… hadn’t been time.

And now it felt too late to send something simple.

Hey.

As if that would cover everything he wanted to say.

He swallowed, pushing the thought away before it could settle too deep.

Instead, he stepped back, grabbing his sneakers and pulling them on with a small grimace.

Clean.

Perfect.

Untouched.

Nothing like the ones he’d been wearing the past few days.

He reached for his camera next.

Paused for a second.

Then took the strap off, wrapping it around the body instead before picking it up.

More for the look.

More controlled.

Like everything else.

But really—

He knew why he was taking it.

Because if it got too much—

If the noise, the people, the questions started getting to him—

He could always scroll back through the photos.

Through the waterfall.

The koalas.

The beach.

Oscar.

Over and over again.

Like proof it actually happened.

Like something he could hold onto—just a little longer.

The ride to the paddock was already exhausting.

Lando barely had time to look out the window before his PR manager started running through talking points again—race expectations, team goals, safe answers to predictable questions.

“Keep it positive.”

“Don’t speculate.”

“Smile more when you answer that one.”

He nodded at the right moments, humming out half-acknowledgements, but none of it really stuck.

His mind was somewhere else entirely.

By the time the car pulled up, he already felt drained.

And then came the walk through the paddock.

Cameras.

Flashes.

Voices calling his name from every direction.

Even through his sunglasses, the lights felt too bright, too sharp, hitting him from every angle. He lifted a hand in a practiced wave, smiling automatically, the expression settling onto his face like something rehearsed.

It didn’t reach his eyes.

But it didn’t have to.

It was convincing enough.

“It’s good to be back,” he heard himself say to someone on his left.

“Yeah, feeling refreshed,” to another.

Lie.

Lie.

Lie.

But it was fine.

This was part of it.

He barely had time to greet anyone properly before he was ushered inside, a hand lightly guiding him toward the motorhome.

“Quick change, then straight to media,” someone said.

Of course.

He swapped his clothes for team kit in record time, fingers moving automatically zip, collar, sleeves, watch checking himself once in the mirror before stepping back out.

Back into it.

Another interview.

Then another.

And another.

Different faces, same questions.

“How was the break?”

“Feeling confident for the weekend?”

“What are your expectations?”

Lando answered smoothly, voice steady, smile in place. He leaned into the rhythm of it, letting it carry him, letting it take over so he didn’t have to think too much.

Because thinking—

That would make it harder.

It was easier like this.

Just be the version of himself everyone expected.

Just keep going.

It was fine.

He just needed to get back into it.

Find the flow again after the break.

Focus.

After what felt like the millionth interview, he was finally given a few minutes.

A break.

Not long—but enough.

He slipped away from the cameras, shoulders dropping just slightly the second he was out of direct view. The noise dulled a bit in the background, replaced by the quieter hum of the paddock behind the scenes.

“Mate, you look dead.”

Lando looked up.

Carlos.

He let out a small, real laugh for the first time that day.

“Thanks,” he said dryly. “Nice to see you too.”

Carlos stepped closer, giving him a quick side hug, studying him for a second longer than usual.

“Seriously,” he added, quieter now. “You okay?”

Lando shrugged, leaning back against the wall behind him.

“Just tired. Long few days.”

Not a lie.

Just not the whole truth.

Carlos hummed like he didn’t fully buy it—but didn’t push.

“Where did you disappear to, anyway?” he asked instead. “You went completely off-grid.”

Lando’s lips twitched slightly.

“It’s a long story,” he said simply.

“Yeah?” Carlos raised a brow. “Will you finally make time for an old friend and tell me about it?”

And for a split second—

Lando hesitated.

Just a second too long.

Then he shrugged it off.

“Sure,” he said, tone casual, like it didn’t matter.

Carlos nodded slowly, a small smirk forming.

“Must’ve been a good trip.”

Lando looked away for a moment, eyes flicking down to the camera still in his hand.

“Yeah,” he said quietly “It was.”

Before anything else could be said, someone called Carlos’ name from across the paddock.

“Duty calls,” Carlos sighed, clapping Lando lightly on the shoulder. “Try not to die before FP1, yeah? Call me later!”

“I’ll do my best,” Lando shot back.

Carlos grinned and disappeared just as quickly as he came.

And just like that—

Lando was alone again.

Only this time, the noise started creeping back in.

And his break—

Was already over.

By the time Lando was finally allowed to go back to his drivers’ room, he felt like he’d just come back from a war.

His head was pounding faintly, his cheeks sore from smiling, his voice tired from repeating the same answers over and over again.

Media day.

Always the worst.

The same questions about the break.

About the car.

About whether this would finally be the year.

He dropped his bag near the door and exhaled, rolling his shoulders as if he could physically shake the day off.

All he wanted was his bed.

Silence.

Five minutes where no one expected anything from him.

But of course the day wasn’t over.

Not even close.

This was just the official part.

With a quiet groan, he let himself fall onto the small couch in the corner, already sinking into it, eyes half-closing—

And then he shot right back up.

“What the—”

Right there.

On the cushion next to him.

Something.

Not just something.

Something alive.

Something with way too many legs.

Lando froze for half a second, staring at it like if he didn’t move, it might not notice him.

It moved.

He yelped, scrambling back off the couch so fast he nearly tripped over his own feet.

“Nope. Nope, absolutely not.”

His brain, already fried from the day, went straight into panic mode and without thinking, he grabbed his phone and hit the only contact that felt right.

It barely rang.

“Lan?”

Relief hit instantly.

“Oscar!” Lando blurted, voice somewhere between distressed and offended. “There’s something on my couch!”

A pause.

“Lando, are you okay?”

“No!” he snapped. “Osc, it has so many legs—and there’s this weird thing on its back—it’s an abomination!”

On the other end, he could hear movement—something clattering, like Oscar had immediately gotten up.

“Show me,” Oscar said, a hint of a smile already in his voice.

Lando didn’t hesitate. He switched to video call instantly, keeping as much distance as possible as he zoomed in on the creature like he was documenting evidence.

“There. Look at it. Look at that thing.”

Oscar leaned closer to his screen.

And then—

He laughed.

Actually laughed.

“Lan,” he said, clearly amused, “it’s just an Arachnura.”

“A what?” Lando demanded.

“A scorpion-tailed spider,” Oscar repeated, still smiling. “They’re harmless.”

“A what-tailed spider?!” Lando’s voice pitched higher. “That’s not better! That’s significantly worse, actually!”

He gestured wildly toward the couch, keeping a safe distance like it might launch itself at him.

“This is ridiculous! I’ve been in forests, I’ve been on beaches—nothing! Not a single spider! And the moment I come back to civilisation, this thing appears?”

He pointed accusingly at it.

“Someone is after me.”

Oscar’s laughter softened into something warmer, fond almost, as he watched him spiral.

“Lan, calm down,” he said gently. “I promise it’s more afraid of you than you are of it.”

“That’s simply not true,” Lando muttered.

“It is,” Oscar insisted. “Also—there were definitely spiders before.”

“No, there weren’t.”

“You just didn’t notice them,” Oscar said, far too calmly.

Lando blinked.

“…I hate that information.”

Oscar grinned on the other end of the call.

“Do you want me to guide you through removing it, or are you planning to abandon the room entirely?”

Lando glanced at the couch.

Then back at the screen.

“…How attached am I to this room, really?”

“Lan.” Oscar’s voice came through the speaker, low and warning—just on the edge of amused.

“Nope,” Lando cut him off immediately. “I’m not touching that. Absolutely not. I’ll find someone else to deal with it.”

He was already moving, backing toward the door like the thing might suddenly gain speed and chase him.

“Lando, I promise it’s not going to attack you—” Oscar tried again.

Too late.

Lando was out.

He slipped into the motorhome corridor, walking fast too fast to look normal, but not quite running either. His phone was still in his hand, camera pointed vaguely downward now, Oscar’s presence a constant in the background.

He scanned the area, eyes flicking from one papaya shirt to another.

Anyone.

Mechanic. Engineer. Random driver.

Someone braver than him.

Daniel would be perfect, his brain supplied helpfully. He’s Australian. This is probably, like, a daily inconvenience for him.

“What got you in a hurry?”

Lando nearly walked straight into someone.

He flinched, stopping abruptly, lowering his phone just enough to see—

Pato.

Of course.

Lando angled the phone away instinctively, shielding the screen like it held classified information, before looking up at his teammate.

“Have you seen Jon? Or maybe Will? Anyone?” he asked quickly, a bit too quickly.

Pato blinked at him.

“…Are you alright, man?”

“Yes,” Lando said immediately.

Too immediately.

“Completely fine.”

From his phone, faint but very much audible—

“Lando.”

He froze.

Pato’s eyes flicked down toward the phone.

Lando didn’t even hesitate.

“Never mind,” he said, already stepping back. “All good. Solved it.”

“Uh… okay?” Pato frowned, clearly unconvinced.

Lando didn’t wait for more questions. He turned on his heel and walked back the way he came, pace just as quick as before.

Nope.

Absolutely not explaining that.

He was not about to admit he’d had a full meltdown over a spider. Pato would never let that go.

He slipped back into his drivers’ room and shut the door behind him with a quiet click, exhaling like he’d just escaped something far more serious.

“New plan,” he announced, walking back toward the couch but keeping a very safe distance. “I change as quickly as possible, and you watch it so it doesn’t move.”

“Lan—”

“No, no,” Lando cut in, already setting his phone down.

He propped it carefully against a water bottle on the small table, adjusting the angle with unnecessary precision until the camera had a perfect, uninterrupted view of the spider.

“There,” he said, stepping back like he’d set up surveillance equipment. “You have eyes on it.”

Oscar’s quiet laughter filled the room.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“There is a live threat in this room,” Lando shot back, already grabbing his clothes. “I’m being cautious.”

“Mmhm.”

Keeping one eye firmly on the couch and by extension, the spider—Lando moved quickly, changing like he was in some kind of timed challenge. Shirt off, new one on, movements rushed and slightly uncoordinated as he tried not to turn his back fully on the creature.

“Still there?” he asked, not even trying to hide the edge in his voice.

Oscar leaned closer to the camera on his end, playing along.

“Yep. Hasn’t moved.”

“Good,” Lando muttered. “It knows I’m watching.”

Oscar huffed a laugh.

“I don’t think that’s how it works.”

“Well, it should,” Lando shot back, dragging his sweater over his head and immediately glancing back toward the couch again.

Still there.

Still awful.

Still absolutely not his problem to solve directly.

He stepped back toward the table, grabbing his phone again but keeping it angled toward the spider.

“…What if it jumps?” he asked, quieter now.

“Lan,” Oscar said, softer this time, the amusement easing just a little. “It’s not going to jump you.”

Lando didn’t look convinced.

“…You better be right.”

There was a knock on the door that made Lando jump out of his skin.

“Lando, are you ready?” his manager’s voice came from the other side.

Lando shot one last suspicious glance at the couch—at it—before quickly switching the call from video to voice.

“Coming!” he called out, already moving.

He didn’t waste another second.

The door was open and he was out in the corridor almost immediately, phone pressed to his ear like a lifeline.

“There’s a big spider in there,” he complained the second he saw Mark. “Get rid of it, please.”

Mark looked at him for a moment really looked at him.

At the slightly wild eyes.

The genuine distress.

And then, despite himself, he looked amused.

“…Right,” he said slowly. “I’ll send someone later.”

“But Mark—” Lando started, horrified at the idea of that thing being left unattended.

“It won’t be there tomorrow, alright?” Mark cut in, already turning to walk. “I’ll have the whole room checked if I have to.”

He glanced back at him.

“Now come on. Time’s running.”

Lando hesitated for a second longer, clearly not satisfied—but he followed anyway, shoulders tense.

“Osc, you still there?” he asked into the phone as they walked.

“Crisis managed?” Oscar’s voice came through, light, a quiet laugh behind it.

Lando made a face, even though he couldn’t see it.

“Kinda,” he admitted. Then, with a small wince, “But if it’s back there tomorrow, I’m burning the whole thing down.”

He said it just loud enough for both Oscar and Mark to hear.

Mark snorted under his breath.

Oscar, on the other end, just laughed properly this time.

“I’m sure the team will appreciate that.”

Lando huffed but didn’t argue.

They reached the car, and Lando slid into the seat, still holding his phone close as if putting it away would somehow make everything worse.

“Are you finally free today?” Oscar asked then, more casually—but there was something under it. Something hopeful.

Lando’s expression softened for a second.

“I wish,” he said, leaning his head back against the seat. “I’ve got team dinner now, and then another session with Jon.”

A small pause.

“Oh.”

The disappointment in Oscar’s voice wasn’t loud.

But it was there.

And Lando heard it.

“Yeah,” he exhaled, glancing out the window as the car started moving. “And I’m still so sore, Osc.”

He let out a quiet groan, dragging a hand over his face.

“I think you actually broke me.”

That earned him a brief look from Mark, who raised a brow like he very much wanted context—but Lando just waved him off.

On the other end, Oscar’s voice softened again.

“You’ll be fine, Lan.”

Lando hummed quietly, not entirely convinced.

But he didn’t argue.

Because somehow—

Hearing it from him made it feel a little more true.

Their conversation didn’t last much longer.

“Lan—” Oscar started, like he wanted to say something else.

But before he could, Mark was already gesturing for him to get out of the car.

“We’re here.”

“I gotta go,” Lando said quickly, sitting up.

“Yeah,” Oscar replied, softer now. “Good luck.”

“Thanks,” Lando murmured.

There was a beat.

Like neither of them really wanted to hang up first.

Then—

“Text me later?” Oscar added.

“Yeah. I will.”

And then the line went quiet.

The team dinner was already in full swing when Lando walked in.

Voices overlapping, laughter bouncing off the walls, the whole room buzzing with that specific kind of energy that only came with the start of a new season. Everyone was talking at once—engineers, mechanics, management—all of them excited, hopeful, already looking ahead.

It should’ve pulled him in.

Usually it did.

But tonight—

Lando smiled when he had to. Nodded at the right moments. Laughed when something was clearly meant to be funny.

But his mind wasn’t there.

It kept drifting.

Back to quiet roads.

To salty air and warm evenings.

To someone who didn’t expect anything from him except to just be there.

He picked at his food more than he actually ate.

Someone asked him a question something about testing—and he answered automatically, words coming out smooth, practiced.

Easy.

Too easy.

Because this part of him—

This version of Lando—

He knew by heart.

Another meeting after.

More talking.

More planning.

More expectations laid out in careful sentences.

And then training.

Jon didn’t go easy on him.

Of course he didn’t.

Lando pushed through it, jaw tight, muscles protesting with every movement. His body still hadn’t fully recovered from the surfing, from the running, from everything stacked on top of everything else.

But he didn’t say anything.

Didn’t complain.

Didn’t slow down.

Because this—

This was normal.

This was what he signed up for.

By the time he was finally done, his whole body ached in that deep, exhausting way that settled into his bones.

And still—

He told himself he was fine.

All day, he told himself that.

You’re fine.

This is normal.

You’ve done this a hundred times before.

Tomorrow he’d be back in the car.

Back where everything made sense.

Where the noise in his head quieted.

Where he didn’t have to think about anything except braking points and racing lines and instinct.

That’s all he needed.

Really.

Just the track—

And a way to let everything else out.

He was right.

The moment first practice ended, something in him clicked back into place.

The noise quieted.

The tension eased.

Everything that had felt heavy the day before suddenly… didn’t.

The car felt incredible beneath him—responsive, sharp, like it was doing exactly what he wanted before he even fully committed to it. Lap after lap, he pushed, finding the limits, brushing right up against them without tipping over.

And when he crossed the line—

Fastest.

The word alone sent a rush through him.

By the time he climbed out of the car, helmet off, hair flattened and messy, he was buzzing. Adrenaline still high in his veins, a grin he didn’t even try to hide pulling at his lips.

This was him.

He answered questions with an ease that hadn’t been there yesterday. Smiling actually smiling this time, not the practiced version. Letting the excitement bleed into his voice as he talked through the session, through how the car felt, through where they could still improve.

Hands clapped against his back as he walked through the garage.

“Nice one.”

“Good pace out there.”

He took it all in, nodding, laughing, feeding off the energy instead of forcing it.

Then it was straight into debrief.

Head down, focused again—going through data with the engineers, replaying corners, discussing adjustments, already thinking about what they could squeeze out next session.

Always more.

Always better.

Only when they were finally done did someone wave him off.

“Take five.”

Lando didn’t need to be told twice.

He made his way back to his drivers’ room, shutting the door behind him before dropping straight onto the couch with a quiet exhale.

For a second, he just lay there.

Staring at the ceiling.

Breathing.

Yesterday’s spider—completely forgotten.

Everything else—pushed to the side.

He felt… good.

Really good.

After a moment, he reached for his phone without even thinking about it, already hitting call.

It barely rang.

“Were you watching?” he asked the second Oscar picked up, not even bothering with a greeting.

A soft chuckle came through the speaker.

“Yes,” Oscar said. “You did good.”

Lando scoffed, pushing himself up slightly on one elbow.

“Good?” he repeated, offended in a way that was entirely fake. “I was amazing.”

He could practically hear the smile on the other end.

“Fastest,” Oscar admitted. “Not bad.”

“Not bad?” Lando echoed, grinning now. “Say it properly.”

There was a small pause.

Then—

“You were really good, Lan.”

Something about the way he said it easy, genuine landed differently than all the congratulations before.

Lando leaned back against the couch again, smile softening just slightly.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I was.”

“What are you up to, Osc? Still in Melbourne or did you already leave for your next adventure?”

Lando tried to keep it light, casual—like it didn’t matter either way.

But there was something under it.

Something tighter.

Because he’d learned enough by now to know Oscar didn’t really stay in one place unless he had to.

There was a quiet on the other end of the line, just for a second.

“Nope, I’m at the garage actually,” Oscar said. “Figured I’d pick some work up since I’m here for a while.”

“Oh.” Lando said a bit surprised “so no new trip?” 

“I mean I’ll probably go somewhere next week.” He said as a matter of fact “but I’ll stay until the end of the gp at least.” 

“Why?” The question slipped out before Lando could stop it.

There was a small shift on the other end—background noise, something metallic, like tools being set down.

“I was hoping to get lucky and meet a driver,” Oscar said lightly.

Lando could hear the smirk.

“I mean,” he continued, just as casual, “who wouldn’t like to meet Max Verstappen?”

“Oi!” Lando shot back immediately, pushing himself upright on the couch.

“That’s your big plan? Stick around and hope Max notices you?” he scoffed, offended in a way that was entirely real now.

Oscar chuckled.

“Worth a shot.”

“Unbelievable,” Lando muttered, shaking his head even though he was smiling. “I thought we had something special.”

“Yeah?” Oscar played along easily. “Didn’t realise I was competing with you.”

“You’re not,” Lando said quickly. “You’ve already lost.”

That earned him a proper laugh.

“Harsh.”

“Accurate,” Lando corrected, leaning back again, more relaxed now. “I take you on the best trip of your life and this is how you repay me? Chasing after Max?”

“You took me?” Oscar echoed.

“Details,” Lando waved it off. “Irrelevant.”

There was a pause—comfortable this time.

Then, softer, but still teasing—

“Pretty sure I stayed for someone else anyway.”

Lando’s breath caught for half a second.

“Yeah?” he asked, quieter now despite himself.

“Yeah.”

It wasn’t said as a joke this time.

And Lando didn’t try to turn it into one either.

“…Good,” he murmured, a small smile tugging at his lips.

The conversation didn’t last much longer.

“Lando, we need you,” his PR manager called from the door, already halfway inside.

Lando closed his eyes briefly.

Of course.

“Gotta go,” he said into the phone, already pushing himself up.

“Yeah,” Oscar replied. “Go be famous.”

“Shut up,” Lando muttered, but there was no real bite to it. “I’ll text you later.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

And just like that—

It ended.

Again.

—

Filming went… fine.

That was the best word for it.

Lando stood under bright lights, camera pointed straight at him, repeating lines that were meant to sound natural. Laughing when he was supposed to laugh. Reacting when he was supposed to react.

Pato stood beside him, relaxed, easy smile on his face.

He was pleased—of course he was.

P4 was a strong result, especially in his third year. Solid. Impressive.

And Lando was happy for him.

Genuinely.

But whatever chemistry they tried to capture on camera felt just a little off.

Not bad.

Just… not real.

They weren’t enemies. There was no tension, no underlying conflict.

But they weren’t close either.

Not like that.

Just teammates.

Professional.

Polite.

Careful.

Lando played his part perfectly anyway.

He always did.

—

But the good mood didn’t last.

It never really did.

By the time the next session rolled around, the track had changed. Grip slightly different. Conditions shifting just enough to matter.

And this time—

He didn’t come out on top.

P3.

Outdriven by his teammate.

0.14 seconds.

It wasn’t much.

It was nothing, really.

But it was enough.

Lando climbed out of the car quieter this time.

The adrenaline was still there—but sharper now. Less joy, more edge.

More focus.

He pulled his helmet off, running a hand through his hair as he walked back into the garage.

Already replaying the lap in his head.

Turn by turn.

Where he could’ve pushed more.

Where he lost it.

Where Pato didn’t.

“Good lap,” someone said as he passed.

Lando nodded.

“Yeah.”

But his jaw tightened slightly.

Because good wasn’t what he wanted.

Not anymore.

He wasn’t sulky about it.

Not on the outside.

He still smiled, still stopped when journalists called his name, still answered every question like he was supposed to. Congratulated Charles with an easy, genuine grin, praised the lap, the pace.

With Pato it was a bit more measured.

Still polite. Still professional.

Just… a touch more rehearsed.

Because that was his role.

The image.

McLaren’s golden boy.

The perfectly media-trained driver.

Always composed. Always smiling.

—

But the moment he got back to the hotel—

It slipped.

The door barely closed behind him before he let out a breath, shoulders dropping as he tossed his bag aside.

Because he did everything right.

And it still wasn’t enough.

—

Were you watching?

He texted, thumbs moving faster than he thought.

Same question as before.

But this time it felt different.

He didn’t even have to wait long.

His phone lit up with a call.

“Hi, you finally free?” Oscar’s voice came through, softer than before.

“Kinda,” Lando sighed, dragging a hand through his hair as he paced the room. “Just got back to the hotel.”

He dropped onto the edge of the bed.

“I’m seeing Carlos later… feel kinda guilty for not going to the padel.”

“It’s good,” Oscar said. “You should relax a bit. It’ll make you feel better.”

There was something under it.

A slight dip in his tone.

Disappointment, maybe.

But still steady. Still sincere.

Lando noticed.

He always did.

“So you were watching?” he asked, quieter now, fingers fidgeting with the edge of the duvet.

“Yeah,” Oscar said. “P3 is still solid.”

Lando wasn’t convinced.

There was a brief pause before Oscar added

“But for FP3… try braking a touch later into Turn 3.”

Lando frowned slightly, already thinking it through.

“You’re playing it a bit safe on entry,” Oscar continued. “If you carry the speed deeper before turning in, you’ll gain time without really risking much. The car looked stable enough for it.”

Lando leaned his head back against the wall, eyes unfocused as he replayed the corner.

“…Yeah,” he murmured. “I think I backed out a bit there.”

“It’s small,” Oscar said. “But it adds up.”

And that—

That sounded fixable.

“What are you working on now?” Lando asked, shifting the conversation away from racing, away from lap times and tiny mistakes that stuck in his head.

There was a faint clatter on the other end of the line.

“A G-Wagon,” Oscar said with a quiet sigh. “Nothing too fancy. Oil leak—pretty common for that model. Kinda boring, to be honest.”

Lando huffed a laugh, stretching out on the bed.

“Poor you,” he teased. “Living such a hard life.”

Oscar hummed, clearly unconvinced.

“And what would you rather fix?” Lando asked, turning onto his side, phone pressed closer to his ear.

That got a different reaction.

Oscar’s voice shifted subtly, but enough.

“I mean, I don’t mind fixing stuff. It’s part of the job,” he said. “But I much prefer improving.”

Lando smiled a little at that.

Of course he did.

“Like what?” he prompted.

“There was this one time,” Oscar continued, a hint of energy creeping in now, “a guy came in with a Porsche and just—told me to make it faster.”

Lando raised a brow.

“Define faster.”

Oscar let out a short laugh.

“He literally said he didn’t care what I did as long as it could hit 450 km/h.”

Lando blinked.

“…What?”

“Yeah.”

“Was that even legal?” he asked, half incredulous, half amused.

A beat.

“No,” Oscar said casually. “But it was fun.”

Lando let out a disbelieving laugh, shaking his head against the pillow.

“You’re insane.”

“Probably,” Oscar admitted easily.

“But you did it?” Lando pressed, curiosity getting the better of him.

There was a small pause.

“Got close,” Oscar finally said. “That’s all I’ll say.”

Lando smiled to himself, staring up at the ceiling.

Of course he did.

And for the first time that day—

His mind wasn’t on racing at all.

“What else did you do that’s this crazy?” Lando asked, a small smile creeping onto his face.

He made a mental note right then ask Oscar about work more often.

Because this—

This version of him?

A bit more open, a bit more animated and Lando liked it.

A lot.

“I’ve done plenty,” Oscar said, and Lando could practically hear the shrug, “but my favourite story is this one guy—came in wanting to replace the engine in his Toyota. Said he wanted something better.”

“That sounds dangerous already,” Lando muttered.

Oscar ignored that.

“Anyway, we did it. Properly. Took some time, but it worked.”

“And?” Lando prompted.

“And,” Oscar continued, a hint of amusement slipping into his voice, “he shows up to a race next week and pulls up next to me.”

Lando let out a laugh.

“No way.”

“Yeah. Fully serious about it too.”

“That’s bold,” Lando snorted. “Did you win?”

Another pause. Before—“Of course.”

There it was. That quiet confidence. Not loud. Not arrogant.

Just… certain.

Lando smiled to himself, something warm settling in his chest.

Because it was rare.

And somehow that made it even better.

They spent way too much time on the phone.

At some point Lando had laid flat on his back, one arm tucked under his head, the other holding his phone loosely against his ear. He wasn’t even trying to hide the smile anymore.

Oscar just kept talking.

Story after story—some ridiculous, some borderline illegal, some so technical Lando only understood half of it.

But that didn’t matter.

He liked listening.

Every now and then he’d interrupt—

“No way.”

“You’re lying.”

“That’s not even possible.” —and Oscar would just laugh quietly and keep going, like he didn’t need to prove anything.

It was easy.

Too easy.

And Lando let himself have it for longer than he probably should have.

Which is how he ended up late.

Not terribly late. Just enough.

Carlos was already waiting for him when Lando arrived, sprawled comfortably on the couch, controller in hand.

“Nice of you to join me,” he said dryly, not even looking up.

“Shut up,” Lando muttered, grabbing the second controller and dropping beside him.

Carlos had had a rough session.

It showed.

Not in a dramatic way just quieter than usual, less sharp around the edges.

So instead of going out, instead of doing anything social—

They stayed in.

Video games.

Simple.

Familiar.

A few minutes in, the room filled with the usual sounds—button mashing, quiet curses, the commentary from the game playing in the background.

Lando was distracted.

Still half somewhere else.

And it showed.

“So,” Carlos said casually, eyes still on the screen, “what were you doing in Australia for so long?”

Lando blinked.

“You were here visiting Daniel some time ago, no?” Carlos added.

Lando froze for half a second.

It was small.

Easy to miss.

Carlos didn’t react—

At least not visibly.

Because right after that, he scored.

“Focus, mate,” he said lightly.

“Fuck off,” Lando muttered, shifting in his seat.

His grip on the controller tightened slightly.

“Nothing really,” he said after a moment, trying to sound casual. “Just… chilling. Visited a few cool places.”

“Mm,” Carlos hummed.

A beat passed.

“With whom?”

Lando’s thumb slipped slightly on the joystick.

“Umm… a friend?” he said, and even to his own ears it sounded off.

Too unsure.

Carlos finally glanced at him.

Just briefly.

But there was something in his expression now—something sharper.

“Yeah, but who?” he asked. “I know most of your friends, Lando.”

Lando swallowed, eyes fixed on the screen.

“You don’t know him,” he said. “I only met him some time ago.”

Another goal.

Carlos scored again.

“Claro,” he muttered under his breath, though it didn’t sound like he was talking about the game anymore.

Then he leaned back slightly, turning his head just enough to properly look at Lando this time.

“Oh?” he said.

A small pause.

Then “Tell me.”

“I—” Lando hesitated, thumb hovering uselessly over the controller for a second.

He took a small breath, eyes still fixed on the screen.

“There’s nothing really to tell,” he said finally. “Met him back in Perth. Turns out he’s from Melbourne. I came in early to avoid jet lag and just… hit him up.”

It sounded simple.

Too simple.

Cleaned up.

Like he’d taken something messy and folded it neatly into a sentence.

Carlos didn’t buy it.

“Doesn’t sound like nothing to me,” he said, a faint mocking edge in his voice as he kept playing.

“It is,” Lando insisted, a bit too quickly.

Carlos hummed, unimpressed.

“So he’s not famous?” he asked. “You didn’t make him sign an NDA or anything?”

Lando blinked.

“Umm…”

That hadn’t even crossed his mind.

“…no?”

Carlos finally looked at him properly.

Not joking now.

Measuring.

Like he was putting pieces together.

Lando shifted slightly under the look.

Then Carlos leaned back again, picking up the controller like nothing happened.

“So it is serious,” he said casually.

“What?” Lando frowned.

“You’d make him sign an NDA if it was nothing,” Carlos shrugged. “You always do.”

He unpaused the game.

“You don’t want to scare him off.”

Lando opened his mouth—

Then closed it again.

Because he didn’t have an answer to that.

And somehow—

That said more than anything he could’ve come up with.

Chapter Text

Friday left something behind.

Not something Lando could name exactly—just a feeling that didn’t sit right. Not bad enough to ruin the day, not good enough to ignore.

Just… off.

It lingered.

Through the mixed performances in free practice. Through the conversation with Carlos that replayed in the back of his head more times than he wanted to admit.

It stayed.

He tried to shake it off Saturday morning.

Got up early.

Didn’t complain once during training with Jon, even when his body still ached from the past few days. Pushed through every set, every rep, like discipline alone could fix whatever was sitting wrong in his chest.

It didn’t.

Breakfast with Mark was the same—light conversation, half-listening, nodding in the right places.

Strategy meeting after that.

Numbers. Plans. Scenarios.

Lando heard it all.

None of it stuck.

And the longer it went on—

The more it built.

By the time he got into the car, it was there in full.

Frustration.

Restlessness.

Something sharp under his skin.

The session started fine.

The car felt good.

Responsive. Fast. Exactly what he needed.

The weather was perfect too track conditions ideal, grip where it should be.

There was no real excuse.

But his head wasn’t in it.

A corner slightly off.

A braking point just a fraction late.

A hesitation where there shouldn’t be one.

Small things but they stacked. On his push lap, he ran into traffic.

For a split second, he considered backing out—

Then didn’t.

Tried to push through it anyway. Tried to make it work, he knew he could do better.

He should do better.

But the lap was already gone.

And when the chequered flag waved—

P10.

Lando sat there for a moment longer than necessary, hands still on the wheel, staring ahead.

The radio crackled faintly in his ears.

He didn’t answer right away.

Pato was ahead of him.

And for some reason— that made it worse.

A dozen smiles, a hundred excuses, a million sympathetic looks later—Lando finally had a moment to himself.

He didn’t go back to the motorhome.

Too obvious.

Too easy to find.

Instead, he slipped further back, past the rows of hospitality units, until the noise of the paddock dulled into something distant. He found a quiet patch of grass, half-hidden behind a fence that separated the circuit from the outside.

The sun hit just right there.

Warm.

Still.

He sank down against the metal bars, exhaling slowly, and for a moment just sat there before pulling his phone out. Data first. Always.

The car was fine—better than fine. It did exactly what it was supposed to. No issues, no irregularities, nothing to point at and blame.

Nothing but him.

Lando stared at the screen a little longer than necessary, because if the car was perfect, then the problem was obvious. He was the problem.

His jaw tightened. Maybe he wasn’t good enough. Maybe he wasn’t focused enough. Maybe he let things get into his head too easily—let emotions bleed into the one place they absolutely shouldn’t. In the car.

And it wasn’t just that. He’d been off all day. Snappy. Short.

Slacking.

Not just as a driver getting outperformed by his teammate, who had only been in the sport for three years, no matter his previous experience. IndyCar wasn’t Formula 1.

It shouldn’t look like this.

But also as a professional.

He knew he’d barked at that journalist earlier. Saw the surprise on their face, the way the PR manager immediately stepped in.

That wasn’t him.

Or at least—

It wasn’t who he was supposed to be.

His grip tightened slightly around the phone.

Lando dragged a hand through his hair before opening the clips from FP3, replaying them over and over, hoping that maybe—if he saw it from a different angle—it would finally make sense.

A mistake.

A reason.

Something that would explain it.

A notification caught his eye.

Call me when you can please?

Two hours ago, right after he got out of the car. Lando stared at it, thumb hovering. He wasn’t sure he wanted to talk to Oscar right now—didn’t want him to hear it, didn’t want him to know. Because this version of him—frustrated, off, second-guessing everything—

It felt embarrassing.

He was embarrassing.

But he pressed call anyway.

“Osc?”

There was immediate movement on the other end, a clatter like something being set aside in a hurry.

“Lan?” Oscar’s voice came through, quick. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Lando said, quieter than he meant to.

A pause.

“You okay?”

Lando swallowed.

“Yeah.”

Another pause.

“Yeah?” Oscar repeated, softer now. Careful.

Like he already knew.

Lando looked down at the grass beneath his shoes.

“No,” he admitted.

The word sat heavy between them.

But it felt… easier than pretending.

“Do you want my advice?” Oscar asked.

It wasn’t pushy.

Just there.

Offered.

Lando hesitated.

Because it felt unfair somehow.

Oscar deserved his own shot—his own chance at going professional—not sitting there, trying to fix Lando after a bad session.

After a failure.

But it was Oscar.

And that changed everything.

But it was Oscar.

The man who, in just a few days, made a bigger impact on Lando’s life than most people he’d known for years.

The man who made him feel comfortable in a way he didn’t even know he could.

The man who made him feel seen—for the first time in a long time.

“Yeah,” he said quietly.

There was a small shift on the other end—like relief.

“Yeah?”

A beat.

Then, steady—

“Stop chasing the perfect lap.”

Lando blinked.

“What?”

“You’re overdriving,” Oscar continued, calm but certain. “Trying to make up time everywhere at once. It stacks up, and you lose more than you gain.”

Lando frowned slightly, thinking back.

The late braking.

Pushing through traffic instead of backing off.

Trying to force it.

“You don’t need to prove everything at once, focus on one clean lap,” Oscar went on. “Reset before it. Build it corner by corner. Don’t fight the car—work with it.”

Silence settled for a moment.

But it wasn’t heavy.

Lando exhaled slowly, leaning his head back against the fence.

“…okay.”

And for the first time since the session—

Something in his chest loosened.

Just a little.

“What if I—” he took a shaky breath, trying to steady his racing thoughts, “what if I’m just not good enough?”

The words felt heavy the moment they left his mouth.

Too honest.

Too real.

“You wouldn’t be there if you weren’t,” Oscar said without hesitation.

Simple.

Certain.

Like there wasn’t even a doubt in his mind.

The line fell quiet after that.

Not awkward—just… full.

Like they were both turning the words over, trying to find something else to hold onto.

“Tell you what,” Oscar said suddenly, his tone shifting, lighter now, almost playful. “If you make it to the podium, I’ll have a surprise for you.”

Lando blinked, brows shooting up even if Oscar couldn’t see it.

“A surprise?”

“Yeah,” Oscar said, and Lando could hear the smile in his voice now. “Doesn’t have to be right after the race. When’s your flight?”

“Monday,” Lando answered automatically.

Then, almost too quickly—

“But it can be after the race. I’m free.”

The eagerness slipped out before he could stop it.

“Alright,” Oscar chuckled softly. “How much time do you have before someone steals you again?”

“They’d need to find me first,” Lando said with a small laugh, pushing himself up from the grass. He brushed his hands over his jeans, knocking off bits of dirt. “I should be getting back though… but keep me company?”

“Yeah,” Oscar said easily.

Lando started walking back toward the paddock, slower than he needed to, phone pressed to his ear like it anchored him.

“What did you do with Carlos yesterday?” Oscar asked after a moment.

Lando huffed a quiet laugh.

“Why? You jealous?”

“No.”

The answer came quickly.

Too quickly.

And there was something sharper under it—something that made Lando’s smile falter just slightly.

“Just curious,” Oscar added.

Lando hummed, letting it pass.

“Nothing much, to be honest. We played video games, talked a bit,” he said, then added lightly, “he wasn’t better company than you, Osc. I promise.”

A small pause.

Then—

“I know.”

And for some reason—

That landed differently.

Lando smiled at that.

“Osc, I need to go,” he said, spotting Will already standing in front of his motorhome, arms crossed. “He doesn’t look happy.”

Oscar huffed a quiet laugh.

“Maybe don’t hide from your team next time, hm?” he said lightly. “Text me after quali, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Lando promised. “Go back to working on your cars.”

“Go drive fast,” Oscar shot back.

The call ended.

But something had shifted.

It wasn’t just the advice. Not even the promise of a surprise. Just… Oscar. The way he spoke, the way he understood without needing everything explained. Even through a phone, it steadied him—made it easier to breathe.

Lando walked back with Will without protesting this time. They went over the data again, properly now—strategy for qualifying, tire choices, when to push, when to hold back.

And for the first time that day, his head was clear.

“Did you eat something?” Will asked suddenly.

Lando shook his head.

Didn’t even think about it.

“Here.” Will handed him a granola bar. “In the car in twenty.”

Lando nodded, unwrapping it, barely tasting it as he ate.

The familiar feeling was already creeping in.

Adrenaline.

Focus.

Q1

The car was flying.

Everything clicked—lines, braking, timing.

P1.

Q2

A bit tighter.

P2.

Still strong. Still right there.

After the morning he’d had, it felt like more than enough.

Q3

First lap—

Not clean.

Max took P1.

Lando exhaled slowly inside the helmet.

It was fine.

Losing to the reigning champion wasn’t the end of the world.

But—

He could do better. He knew he could.

Second runs. Pato went fastest. Same machinery.

That stung.

Lando tightened his grip on the wheel. Reset. Just like Oscar said. One clean lap.

He pushed. Not too much—just enough.

The car responded perfectly beneath him, every input sharp, controlled.

Corner by corner.

No rushing.

No forcing.

The checkered flag.

Pole.

By 0.084.

Lando let out a breath that turned into a laugh, adrenaline flooding through him all at once.

“YEAH!” he shouted, voice cracking slightly over the radio.

When he climbed out of the car—

He was beaming.

He answered the interview questions easily.

“The car felt amazing.”

“It’s a good way to start the season.”

“Everything can happen tomorrow.”

The words came out smooth, practiced—but this time they weren’t empty.

This time, he meant them.

He took the pole position trophy with a radiant smile, holding it up as the cameras flashed. Posed where they told him to, turned when they asked, every angle perfect.

Signed caps, posters, whatever the fans pushed toward him as he made his way out.

Laughing, smiling, saying thank you over and over again.

He was on top of the world again.

And yet—

The first thing he did when he finally had a second to himself—

Was reach for his phone.

thank you

He stared at the message for a moment before sending it.

Not really sure what he was thanking for.

The advice.

The timing.

The way Oscar just… showed up when he needed him.

Maybe all of it.

The reply came quickly.

You did perfect.

Lando smiled at the screen, something soft settling in his chest again.

Because somehow—

That meant more than the pole.

 —

The team dinner was in full swing.

Laughter filled the room, glasses clinking, conversations overlapping. Alcohol flowed freely—though Lando didn’t touch a drop. He noticed Pato with a drink and shook his head slightly.

Rookie mistake.

At some point Zak called for attention, gathering everyone.

He spoke about the season, expectations, the bigger picture.

Papaya Rules.

They’d race.

They’d be free—until they weren’t.

If one driver started performing noticeably better, priorities would shift.

Simple.

Logical.

Necessary.

And Lando got it.

Of course he did.

He’d been in this long enough.

But he didn’t let himself think about it too much.

Not tonight.

Not after today.

Still, as the dinner went on, something in him started to fade.

His social battery drained faster than usual.

Too many conversations.

Too many smiles.

Too much everything.

It didn’t happen often—but after days at the track, in the paddock, constantly around people—

He needed quiet.

So he slipped away.

Locked himself in the bathroom, leaning against the sink for a second, staring at his reflection.

Still smiling.

Even when no one was there.

His phone was already in his hand.

pick me up?

He sent his location.

The reply came instantly.

Are you alright?

yeah I’m tired

He typed back.

don’t want to be here anymore

Gimme 5 minutes.

And that was it.

No questions.

No hesitation.

Lando pushed himself off the counter, exhaling slowly.

He didn’t just disappear.

He found Will first, told him he was heading out—framed it as needing rest before the race.

Not a lie.

Just not the whole truth.

Then he left.

Quick steps out of the restaurant, cool night air hitting his face.

Perfect timing.

A black car pulled up just as he stepped outside.

Lando didn’t hesitate.

He opened the door and slipped inside.

“Hi,” he said, a small smile already forming.

“Hello, superstar,” Oscar chuckled, glancing at him as he pulled away. “Nice of you to finally make time.”

“Osc,” Lando pouted, leaning back into the seat. “Winning is time-consuming.”

“I know, I know,” Oscar said easily, steering the car into the road. “So—where to?”

Lando turned his head slightly, looking at him.

Then out the window.

Then back again.

“Anywhere,” he said quietly.

“Just… not there.”

They ended up on a beach just outside of Melbourne.

It was quiet—almost eerily so. The city lights were far enough away to feel distant, just a faint glow on the horizon, and at this hour there was no one in sight.

Just the sound of the waves.

And them.

“So,” Lando broke the silence after a moment, hands tucked into the sleeves of his hoodie, “can I get my surprise yet?”

Oscar glanced at him, amused.

“Did you finish on the podium yet?”

Lando huffed.

“What if I won’t?” he asked, but there was no real worry in his voice this time. Not like earlier.

Oscar just shrugged lightly.

“Then you get a consolation prize,” he said, teasing. “And you try again for the real one next year.”

“Next year?” Lando repeated dramatically, turning to him. “Why not next race? I can’t wait a whole year for it.”

Oscar laughed under his breath as they walked along the shore, shoes sinking slightly into the sand.

“I can’t really pack it up and travel with it.”

That only made Lando more curious.

“What is it?” he pressed, glancing at him. “Now you have to tell me or I’ll actually die.”

“You’ll live,” Oscar said easily. “You’ll see tomorrow.”

He nudged a small rock out of his way as they walked.

“No need to be so dramatic about it.”

Lando tried to guess.

Some guesses were reasonable.

Most of them weren’t.

“Is it a trophy?”

“You’ll get one already.”

“Are you making me a custom car?”

“Did you pay for one?” Oscar shot back with a quiet laugh.

Lando frowned.

“Did you buy me a koala?”

“That’s for your birthday.”

“Osc.”

“Stop whining or you won’t get it at all,” Oscar teased, though there was no real threat behind it.

Lando huffed but didn’t stop, kicking lightly at the sand as they walked, still clearly thinking, still trying to figure it out.

Oscar just watched him for a moment, amused.

Truth be told—

He’d give it to him anyway.

Podium or not.

But he wasn’t about to say that.

He wanted Lando to earn it.

Wanted to push him—just enough.

Not too much.

Just right.

“Can I drive the Senna if I win?” Lando asked suddenly, turning to him like he’d just cracked it. “That’s it, right? That’s the surprise.”

Oscar didn’t even hesitate.

“No.”

Lando blinked.

“No?” he echoed, genuinely offended.

“Nobody drives the McLaren except me,” Oscar said simply. “And maybe Noah—but only to move it around the garage.”

Lando stared at him.

“Why can’t I drive it?” he demanded. “I drive a McLaren for a living. I’m an actual professional.”

“Not happening,” Oscar said, a quiet laugh slipping through. “Unless you win a championship, you don’t drive my McLaren.”

“That’s literally impossible!” Lando protested, voice rising slightly.

“It really isn’t,” Oscar replied, completely unfazed.

Lando huffed, crossing his arms.

“Not fair.”

They walked in an easy silence for a while longer, waves crashing softly somewhere behind them, until Oscar caught Lando yawning again.

“Sleepy?” he asked, glancing over.

Lando just shook his head, stubborn.

He wasn’t ready for this to end.

“C’mon,” Oscar said anyway, reaching for his wrist and gently tugging him back the way they came. “We’re going back. You need your beauty sleep before the big day.”

Lando sighed but didn’t fight it.

They got back into the car, the quiet settling around them almost instantly as Oscar pulled away from the empty beach.

For a few minutes, neither of them spoke.

“What’s your dream car anyway?” Lando asked eventually, voice softer now, edges blurred with sleep.

“A Shelby,” Oscar said simply. “An older one though. Something I could actually work on myself.”

“You can work on any car,” Lando mumbled.

“Yeah… I guess.”

Oscar glanced at him.

Lando was already halfway gone, head tilted slightly toward the window, eyes barely open.

Oscar turned the music down.

Turned the heater up.

The night air had gotten colder, and Lando was still in just a hoodie.

The rest of the drive passed in quiet.

Soft breathing.

Occasional barely-there snores.

Oscar kept his eyes on the road, but his mind wandered.

He didn’t quite understand how he got here.

How this—this—became real.

How someone like Lando could just… choose to be here. With him.

It felt too easy.

And nothing in his life had ever come easy.

But whatever came next—

He’d take it.

If it meant this.

He pulled into the Hilton parking lot just like the other day..

Turned the engine off.

Sat there for a second.

Then he looked over.

Lando was completely out now, curls messy, face relaxed in a way Oscar hadn’t seen all day.

Soft.

Peaceful.

And suddenly—

Waking him up felt wrong.

So maybe it was selfish. Maybe he was.

But Oscar started the car again and drove back to his place.

By the time he parked, Lando hadn’t moved.

Oscar got out, walked around, and carefully opened the passenger door.

“Lan…” he tried quietly.

Nothing.

He slid an arm under his knees, the other around his back, lifting him as gently as he could.

Lando stirred slightly, shifting against him as Oscar struggled briefly with his keys.

“Osc?” he mumbled, eyes barely opening.

“Shh,” Oscar said softly, finally getting the door open. “Go back to sleep. It’s fine.”

“Mm… ’kay.”

Lando’s grip tightened slightly, face pressing into his chest again.

Oscar’s chest tightened at that.

Inside, he carried him straight to the bedroom, laying him down carefully on the bed.

For a second, he just stood there.

Looking.

Then he moved.

Took off Lando’s shoes, then his jeans—quick, practical, trying not to wake him.

Lando barely stirred.

Oscar changed quickly himself before climbing into bed beside him.

Careful.

Keeping a bit of space.

It lasted maybe five seconds.

Because Lando shifted in his sleep, closing the distance on instinct, curling slightly toward him.

Oscar let out a quiet breath.

Yeah.

He could get used to this.

Probably far too easily.

 —

Lando woke up soft and warm—and definitely not in his hotel bed.

But it felt… familiar.

Safe.

He shifted onto his other side, instinctively seeking more warmth—

—and bumped into something solid.

That made his eyes crack open.

“Osc?” he mumbled, voice still thick with sleep.

Oscar was sitting beside him, back against the headboard, a laptop balanced on his thighs. The morning light filtered through slightly crooked curtains, falling across his face just right—catching on the small moles, the soft lines of his features.

“Hi,” he said, smiling, bunny teeth showing.

Lando blinked at him.

Once.

Twice.

Then pushed himself up onto his elbows, rubbing at his eyes.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, still clearly not fully awake.

Oscar huffed a quiet laugh.

“We’re at my place,” he said, watching him with obvious amusement. “You were out cold. I couldn’t exactly carry you into the Hilton, could I?”

Lando squinted at him.

Processing.

Slowly.

“…you kidnapped me,” he concluded finally, voice still rough.

Oscar grinned.

“Yeah. That was the plan all along.”

Lando let himself fall back onto the pillow with a soft groan, dragging a hand over his face.

“Unbelievable.”

But there was no real complaint in it.

Just warmth.

“What time is it anyway?” Lando mumbled, burying his face deeper into the sheets.

“A bit before nine,” Oscar said, closing his laptop and setting it aside. “Was about to wake you up in a minute.”

Lando let out a long groan into the pillow before forcing himself upright, hair sticking up in every direction.

“Where’s my phone?” he asked, looking around blindly. “I need to text Jon I won’t make it to training.”

Oscar just watched him for a second, clearly amused, before reaching over to his bedside table and handing it to him.

“Won’t you get in trouble?”

Lando unlocked it, squinting at the screen.

“Not my first rodeo,” he admitted, already typing. “He’ll just make me do a double later.”

He hit send, then let the phone drop onto his lap with a small sigh.

“Future me problem.”

“Okay, Mr. Norris,” Oscar said, pushing himself off the bed. “Breakfast?”

Lando looked at him immediately, eyes soft—almost hopeful—as he nodded.

“What do you want?”

“What are the options?” Lando asked carefully, like it was a serious decision.

“Eggs in various forms, oatmeal, avocado toast… or just toast,” Oscar listed, watching him.

Lando’s face shifted into something deeply focused, like he was genuinely weighing it.

Oscar had to bite back a smile.

“I’m fine with whatever,” Lando said finally.

“How about avocado toast with eggs?”

Lando’s eyes lit up instantly.

“Okay. Give me ten.”

Lando watched him leave, something quiet settling in his chest.

The ease of it.

The normality.

It shouldn’t have felt like this.

So natural.

So simple.

Like he could just… stay.

By the time Oscar finished, Lando was already up.

He’d washed up, changed into—very clearly Oscar’s clothes, and made a half-successful attempt at fixing his curls.

He walked into the kitchen just as Oscar was setting the plates down.

“It smeeells good,” Lando said immediately, dragging the word out as he dropped into the chair.

He didn’t wait.

Already taking a bite.

“And it tasteees good.”

The Aussie huffed a quiet laugh, leaning back against the counter.

“I hope it does. Went out to buy groceries at seven in the morning for that.”

Lando paused mid-chew.

“You did?”

Oscar raised a brow.

“Do you think I grow fresh avocados on the balcony?”

Lando snorted.

“I mean… you seem capable.”

Oscar shook his head, amused.

“I was out for a run anyway. It’s not a big deal.”

Lando looked at him for a second longer.

Something softer flickered across his face before he dropped his gaze back to his plate.

“You make me look like an amateur,” he mumbled, mouth still half full. “I wish I was this disciplined.”

Oscar tilted his head slightly, watching him.

Not missing it.

Not the tone.

Not the way it shifted.

“Lan, you work out plenty enough,” Oscar said simply. “You’re allowed to slow down.”

Lando nodded, but the words didn’t fully settle.

Because slowing down had never come easily to him.

Even when he was resting, his mind had a habit of racing ahead—training, performance, what he should be doing better.

“Still,” he added after a moment, lighter now, “next time I’m outsourcing breakfast to you.”

Oscar smirked. “Next time?”

Lando didn’t look up from his plate. “Yeah,” he said casually. “Obviously.”

Oscar didn’t comment on it, but the corner of his mouth lifted slightly.

“What time do you need to be at the track?” he asked instead.

“Ideally around noon,” Lando sighed. “But I need to go back to the hotel first to change.”

Oscar frowned slightly. “What’s wrong with what you’re wearing?”

Lando glanced down at himself—the soft burgundy sweater, the black sweats hanging a little too low on his hips.

“It doesn’t exactly scream style icon,” he said. “Especially the bottoms that fall off my ass every time I move.”

Oscar laughed. “Okay, the sweats are out. But you can wear your jeans from yesterday and you’re good to go.”

Lando considered it.

He didn’t have to look perfect all the time. It wouldn’t kill him to show up a little less put together for once. And wearing something that smelled faintly like Oscar—

That helped more than he wanted to admit.

“I guess it won’t be bad,” he said finally.

“But if people call me out on slacking, I’m blaming it on you,” Lando said, finishing the last bite and leaning back in his chair.

“I can live with that,” Oscar chuckled. “C’mon.”

Lando watched as Oscar gathered the plates, moving around the kitchen with that same easy confidence, rinsing them off and setting them in the sink before turning on the kettle.

“Where are we going?” Lando asked, still not moving.

“You’re going back to bed,” Oscar said like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You need to rest. I’ll be there in a second—just gonna make you tea.”

Lando didn’t move.

He just watched him for a moment longer, something quiet and almost disbelieving settling in his chest.

How could someone be this… effortless about it?

“C’mon,” Oscar nudged, glancing over his shoulder. “Go find something for us to watch. Or something.”

Lando blinked, then nodded and finally pushed himself up.

He made his way back to the bedroom and climbed straight into his spot again, reaching for the remote. He scrolled through the streaming apps lazily before curiosity got the better of him and he clicked into Spotify.

He froze.

K-pop.

So much of it.

Lando stared at the screen, mildly scandalised. Not judging—he wasn’t—but this was… a lot.

Oscar walked back in a moment later, two mugs in his hands. He set one down on Lando’s side before climbing in on the other.

“Did you find something?”

Lando ignored the question completely.

“Osc… are you secretly a K-pop fan?”

Oscar blinked, then followed his gaze to the TV before shaking his head, already settling against the pillows.

“No. Hattie is. She visits a lot.”

“Oh.”

Oscar glanced at him, a teasing edge in his voice. “What? You think it’s lame?”

“No,” Lando said quickly, looking at him a bit more carefully now. “I was just surprised.”

He kept scrolling, not recognising a single song.

“What’s your favourite music anyway?” he asked.

“House,” Oscar answered simply.

Lando paused, looking over at him, trying to piece it together.

It didn’t quite match.

And somehow it matched perfectly.

“What?” Oscar asked, catching the look.

“Nothing, just…” Lando huffed a quiet laugh. “You’re so full of surprises they don’t even surprise me anymore.”

Oscar laughed properly at that, head tipping back slightly, teeth showing.

“I don’t even know what you mean by that.”

“Never mind,” Lando giggled, handing him the remote. “Just show me.”

Oscar raised his brows but took it anyway, typing something in without much explanation.

A second later, the room filled with music.

Lando tilted his head slightly, listening.

It wasn’t what he expected.

Not at all.

It sounded like something he’d hear in a club—something familiar, something he already liked, just… stripped of the crowd, the noise, the chaos.

“You’d love going to a club,” Lando said after a moment.

Oscar let out a quiet chuckle. “I really wouldn’t.”

“That is literally club music,” Lando argued, pointing vaguely at the TV.

“Yeah,” Oscar shrugged, “and I can enjoy it without being shoved around by strangers.”

Lando opened his mouth to argue again, then paused.

“Are you taking me to a club for your surprise?” he asked suddenly, eyes lighting up.

“Nope.”

“Osc,” Lando pouted immediately. “You’re not fun.”

“Oh?” Oscar lifted a brow, looking at him with quiet amusement. “You’re free to go to a club tonight if you want. Nobody’s stopping you.”

Lando’s pout deepened. “But I want to get my surprise.”

“You can always get it tomorrow.”

And he could.

He could go out tonight—drag a few mechanics with him, or find Daniel, who would absolutely be up for it, celebration or not.

It would be easy.

Normal.

Expected.

But the thought sat wrong in his chest.

It wasn’t about the music, or the drinks, or even celebrating.

It was about who he wanted to be with.

And the answer felt almost embarrassingly obvious.

This wasn’t just another race weekend.

This was his race.

His home.

And Lando wanted to win it.

Not just for himself.

But for Oscar.

The thought settled quietly but firmly in his chest, stronger than the earlier frustration, stronger than the nerves that had followed him all weekend.

He wanted that podium.

Wanted to see Oscar there after.

Wanted that moment to be theirs in some way that didn’t need explaining.

So no—clubs could wait.

Everything else could wait.

This mattered more.

Eventually Lando did get up, deciding to do some stretching. He wasn’t irresponsible enough to go drive for two hours without at least some kind of prep, no matter how much he wanted to stay exactly where he was.

He moved around the room slowly at first, easing into it, rolling his shoulders, stretching out his legs. At some point he pulled the sweater off, tossing it aside when the warmth started to build under his skin. The last thing he needed was to show up already overheated.

Oscar watched him from the bed, quiet, propped slightly against the headboard. The music still played softly in the background, filling the space without demanding attention.

It was easy.

That was the thing.

Lando felt… lighter. More relaxed than he had in days, maybe weeks. Like something in him had finally unclenched.

He almost didn’t want to leave.

But time, as always, didn’t care.

By the time he finished, he could already feel the sweat settling on his skin, and he grimaced slightly.

“I need another shower,” he muttered, already heading toward the bathroom.

Oscar just hummed in response, eyes following him until he disappeared.

It didn’t take long.

When Lando came back out, hair still slightly damp, he reached for his phone without much thought.

“Gotta text Mark to bring my bag to the track,” he said, scrolling quickly—then paused, wincing when he noticed the time.

Oscar huffed a quiet laugh. “And how exactly are you planning to explain that?”

“That training ran late,” Lando said easily, a small, almost mischievous smile tugging at his lips.

Oscar shook his head. “I reckon your lies will catch up to you at some point.”

“Let me worry about that.”

But even as he said it, the clock kept moving.

Too fast.

Always too fast.

And suddenly they were out of time again.

Lando grabbed his things, slipping his shoes on, forcing himself not to linger too much—even if every part of him wanted to.

He was, however, silently grateful when Oscar reached for the McLaren keys.

At least that.

At least no headlines about him pulling up in some random car.

The drive was quiet, but not in a bad way. Just… full. Like neither of them felt the need to fill it.

“You want me to drop you off at the main entrance?” Oscar asked as they got closer.

“Yeah,” Lando answered immediately.

He’d deal with the consequences later.

Right now, a few extra minutes mattered more.

“Alright.”

But Oscar didn’t turn straight toward the track.

Instead, he pulled over a few blocks away, parking along a quiet street.

Lando frowned slightly, glancing at him. “Osc—?”

“Come here.”

He was already unbuckling his seatbelt.

Lando blinked, caught off guard just long enough that Oscar leaned over and did it for him, fingers quick and sure before pulling him closer.

It was awkward at first.

Lando ended up half in the middle of the car, balance off, knee knocking against the console, his weight caught somewhere between the seats.

“Wait—” he started, laughing under his breath.

But then Oscar pulled him properly, steadying him, shifting him closer until he was almost in his lap.

And just like that, the awkwardness disappeared.

Oscar’s arms wrapped around him—tight, but careful. Like he was holding something that mattered.

Like he didn’t want to let go.

“Good luck out there,” he murmured softly into Lando’s curls.

Lando felt it more than heard it.

“And remember—it’ll be fine no matter what place you get, yeah?”

Lando nodded, even if Oscar couldn’t really see it.

“Yeah.”

And for a second, everything else—the pressure, the expectations, the noise waiting for him at the track—just… quieted.

Like this was enough to hold onto.

It took every bit of willpower Lando had not to turn around and watch the Senna drive off.

He felt it more than saw it—the quiet absence, the space Oscar left behind.

Instead, he forced himself forward.

Took a deep breath.

Put the smile back on.

The feeling in his chest was… complicated. Sweet, because of the morning, the way it lingered under his skin. Bitter, because he already missed him.

Because a part of him wanted Oscar to stay.

Even if he knew—logically, professionally that it would be a complete disaster.

Still.

He adjusted his cap slightly and walked toward the gates, where fans were already gathered.

“Hi!” he called out, voice light, practiced, slipping back into place like it always did.

Autographs, photos, a few quick exchanges.

He did everything right.

Smiled at the right moments.

Said the right things.

But it felt just a little bit off.

Like part of him was still sitting in that car.

He didn’t have his pass on him, which should have been a problem—but it wasn’t.

A quick smile, a bit of charm, a familiar face.

Security let him through with barely a second glance.

And just like that—

Reality snapped back into place.

“Lando.”

He didn’t even make it two steps inside before Mark was there.

No greeting.

No pause.

“I know for a fact you did not go to training this morning.”

Lando blinked once, then squared his shoulders slightly.

“Okay,” he said, aiming for casual, landing somewhere close to guilty. “I wasn’t.”

Mark stared at him.

“I was with a friend,” Lando added quickly, trying for innocent.

It didn’t help.

“Lando,” Mark sighed, rubbing his forehead like this exact scenario had aged him ten years, “I thought we were past your random hookups on race weekends.”

That made Lando’s head snap up.

“It wasn’t like that!” he shot back immediately, a little too fast, a little too defensive.

Mark didn’t look convinced.

“You’re not a rookie anymore,” he continued, voice firm but not unkind. “You can’t just disappear.”

Lando pressed his lips together, frustration bubbling up—but he didn’t push it further.

There was no time.

There was never time.

Mark sighed again, then jerked his head toward the McLaren hospitality.

“You’ve got five minutes,” he said. “Change and be in the garage.”

And just like that, the moment was over.

Back to work.

Back to reality.

The rest of it blurred together.

Briefings, voices, numbers thrown around like they were the only things that mattered. Strategy discussions, tyre choices, possible rain scenarios—Plan A, Plan B, Plan C. Everyone talking, overlapping, adjusting.

Lando nodded at the right moments.

Answered when needed.

But it all felt… distant.

Still there he was there, focused enough to catch the important parts, but not fully.

Then Jon.

Of course Jon.

There was no escaping that.

“Since you skipped this morning,” his trainer had said, already unimpressed, “we’re making up for it now.”

And he did.

Longer than scheduled, harder than necessary.

Lando didn’t argue.

Didn’t have the energy to.

His muscles burned in that dull, lingering way that reminded him exactly why he hadn’t wanted to miss training—but also exactly that he had.

By the time he was done, there was barely time to breathe.

Barely time to think.

Helmet on.

Gloves tightened.

Strapped in.

And just like that—

He was back where everything made sense.

Formation lap.

The engine vibrating through his body, grounding him, pulling him fully into the moment for the first time all day.

No more noise.

No more expectations.

Just the track.

Just the car.

Just him.

He exhaled slowly.

Lights out.

Chapter Text

The moment the lights went out, everything else disappeared.

No noise. No pressure. No overthinking.

Just the car.

Lando’s launch was clean—sharp reflexes, tyres gripping just enough as he covered the inside into Turn 1. No hesitation. He claimed the space early and held it.

Still P1.

“Good start, Lando. Gap behind 0.9.”

“Copy.”

The first few laps settled into rhythm quickly. The car felt right—balanced, responsive, alive in his hands. Not perfect, but predictable. After the way the weekend had been going, that alone felt like a win.

He focused on keeping it smooth. Australia wasn’t a track you attacked blindly—you had to flow with it. Hit your marks. Trust the car.

Lap by lap, he found that rhythm.

Brake. Turn. Traction.

Again.

And again.

For a moment, it almost felt easy.

But it never stayed that way.

“Gap behind 0.6. He’s in DRS.”

Of course he was.

Lando flicked his eyes to the mirrors.

Papaya.

Pato.

Right there.

He exhaled slowly, adjusting his lines just enough. Not defensive enough to ruin his pace but enough to make it difficult. Make him work for it.

Because that’s how this went.

Pressure.

Build it. Hold it. Wait.

Lap 10.

Lap 12.

Lap 15.

Still there.

Close enough to remind him every second that one mistake would cost him everything.

“Tyre deg is a bit higher than expected.”

“I can feel it,” Lando muttered.

The rear was starting to slide more on exit. Subtle—but it added up. Tiny corrections. Tiny losses.

Behind him, Pato got closer.

Setting up.

Waiting.

Lap 18.

It happened fast.

Too fast to fully process.

They came through the high-speed section—Lando focused ahead, hitting every apex—when something flickered in his mirrors.

A twitch.

A snap.

Then—

Gone.

“Whoa—” Lando breathed, instinctively checking again.

A flash of papaya spinning off line. Gravel kicking up. The car rotating helplessly before coming to a stop.

“Pato’s spun. You’re clear,” Will confirmed.

For a second, everything slowed.

Lando blinked.

“What?”

“He’s out of the fight. Gap behind 4.2.”

A short, disbelieving laugh escaped him.

“Okay…”

Relief hit first. Sharp. Immediate. The pressure that had been glued to his back for nearly twenty laps just vanished.

But he didn’t let himself sit in it.

Because races weren’t won on someone else’s mistake.

They were lost that way, though.

So he reset.

Back into rhythm.

“Box this lap.”

Clean entry. Clean stop. The crew nailed it.

Back out into traffic—of course.

“Where am I?”

“Net P2. You’ll cycle back to P1.”

“Copy.”

He worked through it methodically. No risks he didn’t need. No desperation. Just clean, controlled overtakes.

Lap 24.

Lap 27.

Back in the lead.

“Nice work.”

“Yeah,” Lando breathed. “Feels good.”

The second stint felt lighter. The car came alive again under him, tyres holding on better now. And without Pato right behind him every lap, he could actually drive.

He found time where he hadn’t before—especially through Sector 2. Carrying more speed. Trusting the car more.

It worked.

The gap grew.

Not massive.

But enough.

Then came the final stint.

The fatigue crept in slowly.

Arms heavier. Neck sore. Focus harder to hold.

“Gap behind 2.3.”

“Copy.”

Clouds hung above, threatening rain without ever fully committing.

“Any updates?”

“Light drops possible. Nothing significant.”

Lando huffed quietly.

“Of course.”

Still, he adjusted. Just in case.

Last ten laps.

Everything mattered again.

No mistakes.

No distractions.

Just bring it home.

Lap 50.

The car still felt good. Not perfect—but good enough.

Lap 54.

The thought hit him.

I could actually win this.

It sent something through him—not panic, not pressure.

Energy.

He leaned into it.

Pushed just a little more.

Clean lines. Strong exits. No hesitation.

Final lap.

Everything burned.

Every muscle. Every breath.

But none of it mattered.

Just one more lap.

One more.

Every corner hit.

Every apex clean.

No mistakes.

Last corner.

He straightened the wheel, foot down.

Across the line—

“P1, Lando! That’s P1!”

He laughed—breathless, almost disbelieving.

“Let’s go!”

Relief crashed into him first.

Then the rest.

Adrenaline. Pride. Something deeper, steadier.

He’d done it.

After the doubts.

After the messy start to the weekend.

After everything.

The cooldown lap felt unreal.

The world came rushing back slowly—fans in the stands, engineers shouting in his ears, the noise finally breaking through.

But under all of it—

There was only one thought, quiet and steady.

Oscar.

He parked the car in the number one spot, engine cutting out beneath him as everything finally caught up.

For a second, he just sat there.

Hands still on the wheel.

Breathing.

Then it hit.

He climbed out in one smooth motion, pulling the steering wheel free and throwing himself toward the team. Arms everywhere, voices loud, bodies crashing into his as they hugged him, shook him, pulled him into something chaotic and bright.

He laughed through it, letting them.

Letting himself feel it.

Cooldown room next.

Sitting between Max and George, helmet hair still a mess, heart still racing.

They talked—briefly. Light comments, shared glances, that quiet understanding between drivers that didn’t need much explaining.

Then podium.

The noise came back in full.

Crowd roaring. Cameras flashing.

Lando smiled—wide, genuine as he stepped up, accepted the trophy, felt the weight of it settle into his hands.

Rob beside him.

Champagne everywhere.

Cold, sharp, sticky as it soaked through his hair, his suit, his skin.

He didn’t care.

He felt like he was on top of the world.

Debrief ran long, as it always did after a win. Every number mattered more, every decision picked apart, every lap analyzed like it held something new.

Lando stayed present through it.

Answered everything.

Focused.

But the moment it ended, he was gone.

Out.

A quick shower, washing champagne out of his hair, replacing fireproofs with something softer, something human again.

And the moment he stepped away from it all—

He knew exactly where he wanted to go.

He declined everything.

Team dinner? “Knackered, mate.”

Afterparty? “Early debrief tomorrow.”

Messages about going out? “Dead on my feet.”

The excuses were weak.

He knew it.

They knew it.

Because he wasn’t tired.

Not really.

He was buzzing.

High on adrenaline.

High on winning.

A little drunk on champagne.

But none of that mattered.

He just wanted Oscar.

He didn’t head toward the main exit this time.

Didn’t even look in that direction.

Instead, he unlocked his phone and followed the small blue dot.

The path took him along the outer edge of the circuit, past barriers, fencing, the smell of rubber still hanging in the air. It felt strange, walking away from it all after a day like this.

Eventually, he reached a gate he didn’t even know existed.

Half hidden. Quiet.

A few workers stood there, chatting, ready to leave.

They looked up when they saw him.

Surprise flickered across their faces.

But no questions.

They scanned his pass, let him through like it was the most normal thing in the world.

The gate clicked behind him.

And just like that, everything went quiet.

No cameras.

No noise.

Just Oscar.

Leaning against the black Senna, sunglasses low, the last light of the day catching on his face.

Like he’d been waiting.

Like he wasn’t going anywhere.

Lando didn’t hesitate.

Didn’t think.

Didn’t slow down.

He dropped his bag somewhere behind him and crossed the distance in seconds, crashing straight into him.

Full force—breathless, laughing, alive.

Oscar barely had time to brace before Lando collided with him, champagne-clean hair still slightly damp, victory radiating off him in waves.

“Congratulations,” Oscar said, voice low. Softer than usual. He wrapped his arms around Lando properly, firm and steady, like he meant it.

Up close, he smelled faintly of petrol and something clean.

Oscar didn’t say anything more when they parted. Not when he stepped back. Not when he reached past Lando to open the passenger door of the Senna.

Calm as ever.

Like his pulse wasn’t doing anything unusual.

He bent to grab Lando’s abandoned bag from the gravel before sliding into the driver’s seat, movements unhurried, precise.

The engine started with that familiar, low purr.

They pulled away.

“What, no more tips?” Lando teased, settling into the seat. “Nothing about what I could improve?”

Oscar glanced at him, one brow lifting slightly.

Then he smiled—small, but real.

“No, Lan. You did well today.”

Lando looked ahead for a second.

Then back at him.

“I won,” he said, like he needed to hear it out loud.

Like it still didn’t fully feel real.

A beat.

Then, quieter—

“I won your home race, Oscar.”

The words stayed between them.

Heavy in a different way.

Oscar didn’t answer immediately.

Just focused on the road, merging into traffic as the city lights began to take over.

Golden hour fading into something softer.

Then—

“I know,” he said.

Simple.

But there was something in it.

Something Lando felt more than understood.

“Can I get my surprise now?” Lando asked, practically bouncing in his seat.

Oscar didn’t even look at him at first, just a quiet laugh under his breath. “Patience. We have to get there first.”

“Oscaaaar,” Lando dragged his name out, turning toward him fully now, “I’ve been patient enough.”

The car slowed.

Stopped.

Before Lando could even reach for the handle, Oscar was already out, walking around the front of the Senna like this was all part of some carefully timed plan.

He opened the door for him.

“C’mon, Mr. Winner.”

Lando narrowed his eyes slightly, suspicious now, but he took his hand anyway and stepped out.

The air felt different here.

Quieter.

He looked around, trying to place it.

It felt familiar.

Too familiar.

The kind of place he’d been before—narrow streets, walls layered with paint, colours bleeding into each other, old pieces half-covered by new ones. It reminded him instantly of that street art lane he’d visited last year.

But it wasn’t the same.

He knew it wasn’t.

There were no hearts.

No exact corners he recognised.

Still—

Close enough to make something in his chest tighten.

“Osc… what is it?” he asked, a little more cautious now, falling into step beside him.

Oscar didn’t answer.

Just kept walking.

That only made it worse.

They passed one wall after another, each covered in different styles—murals, tags, pieces half-finished. The ground uneven under their feet, bits of gravel shifting as they moved deeper between the buildings.

Lando kept glancing at him.

Trying to read him.

But Oscar gave nothing away.

Too calm.

Too quiet.

Like he was waiting for something.

One turn.

Another.

Further in.

The noise of the city disappeared completely now, replaced by nothing but their footsteps and the faint hum of something distant.

“Oscar,” Lando tried again, softer this time, almost nervous without meaning to be. “You’re being weird.”

A hint of a smile tugged at Oscar’s lips, but he still didn’t answer.

Just reached back briefly, catching Lando’s wrist to guide him around one last corner.

Then—

He stopped.

Lando nearly walked into him.

“What—”

And then he saw it.

At first, it didn’t register.

Just another wall.

More colour.

More paint.

Then his brain caught up.

The shapes.

The colours.

The patterns.

Familiar.

Too familiar.

He took a step closer.

Then another.

His breath caught somewhere in his chest.

Because it wasn’t just similar.

It was his.

His neon blobs, splashed across the entire wall in chaotic layers of colour. The same style, the same movement, the same instinctive shapes he’d drawn a hundred times without thinking.

Except now—

They were here.

Real.

Big.

Permanent.

At least until someone won’t paint over them.

Lando just stared.

Like if he looked away it might disappear.

Like it didn’t quite make sense.

“Osc—” his voice broke slightly, caught between a laugh and something softer.

He turned to him, eyes wide, something bright and overwhelming behind them.

“Osc!”

“Do you like it?” Oscar asked, like it wasn’t already obvious.

Lando turned to him slowly, like he couldn’t quite believe the question.

“Do I like it?” he echoed, almost offended, then laughed—bright, disbelieving. “It’s incredible, I love it, Osc.”

He looked back at the wall, shaking his head slightly, still trying to take it all in.

“Did you do this?”

Oscar huffed quietly. “No. I don’t think my artistic skills would do it justice.” He scratched the back of his neck, something almost shy in the gesture. “I left it to a professional.”

Lando’s eyes flicked back to him, widening slightly.

“You paid someone to do that for me?”

“No,” Oscar chuckled. “Called in an old favour.”

Lando just stared at him for a second.

Then back at the wall.

Then at him again.

Like he was trying to process which part of this was more ridiculous.

They fell into silence after that, both of them looking at it.

Lando couldn’t quite wrap his head around it.

He’d gotten gifts before.

Big ones. Expensive ones. The kind people expected someone like him to receive—jewellery, trips, cars.

But this—

This was different.

This felt… personal.

Thought out.

Like someone had actually seen him.

“You could’ve told me to bring my camera,” Lando muttered eventually, pouting slightly as he glanced back at him.

“You mean this camera?”

Oscar lifted his hand.

Lando blinked.

Because there it was.

His camera.

“Did you steal it from my bag?” he squeaked, already reaching for it anyway.

Oscar raised his arm just out of reach, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“No. I took it from your bag because I knew you’d want it.”

Lando huffed, stepping closer, trying again to grab it.

“Oscar—”

But Oscar just lifted it a little higher, clearly enjoying this far too much.

The younger just raised his brow, clearly not impressed.

“Oscar.” Lando tried again, reaching up, fingers barely missing the camera.

He stretched a little more, almost on his toes now, but it was useless. The few centimetres between them suddenly felt like a mile.

Oscar didn’t even move, just watched him with that same smug look.

“Please,” Lando tried again, softer this time, dragging the word out.

Oscar held it there for one more second, then smirked.

“Was it so hard?”

He finally gave it to him.

Lando pouted, lips pressed together like he wanted to complain, but didn’t. He had more important things to do.

The light.

He turned back to the wall immediately, lifting the camera, checking it quickly.

The evening light hit perfectly now, softer than before, golden enough to make the colours blend in a completely different way. The neon looked warmer, deeper, almost glowing against the concrete.

He moved without thinking.

One step back.

Click.

A bit to the side.

Click.

Closer.

Click.

He crouched slightly, trying a lower angle.

Click.

Then stood up again, moving further away, framing the whole wall this time.

Click.

He didn’t even realise how many photos he was taking.

Oscar stayed where he was, watching him quietly.

There was something about it.

The way Lando focused.

The way he forgot everything else when he had a camera in his hands.

The way he looked… happy.

Not the loud, public kind.

Something softer.

Real.

“Osc, I need a photo with my wall!” Lando finally said, turning back to him, a little breathless, already walking over.

He pushed the camera into Oscar’s hands without waiting for an answer.

Oscar looked down at it like it might betray him.

“Lan, I have no idea how to use that.”

Lando huffed and stepped closer immediately.

Too close.

But neither of them moved away.

“I’ll show you, it’s easy.”

He reached for the camera, his fingers brushing against Oscar’s as he adjusted the grip, turning it slightly in his hands.

“Okay, look—this is focus,” he pointed, leaning in more, his shoulder almost pressed against Oscar’s chest now. “And this one changes the lighting—don’t overdo it, or it’ll look weird.”

He tilted the camera slightly.

“No, not like that—like this.”

His hand stayed over Oscar’s for a second longer than necessary, guiding the angle, adjusting it carefully.

“See? And then you just press this.”

Oscar wasn’t really looking at the camera.

Not fully.

His gaze flicked between the screen and Lando’s face, too close, too easy to notice details he probably shouldn’t be focusing on.

“Got it,” he said anyway.

Lando stepped back finally, though not far, still watching him carefully.

“Don’t mess it up,” he said, half serious, half teasing.

Oscar raised his brow again, familiar now.

“Go stand by your wall, Lan.”

Lando rolled his eyes but turned anyway, walking back toward it.

He hesitated for a second, suddenly unsure what to do with himself, then leaned casually against the painted concrete, one hand brushing over the neon shapes like he needed to confirm it was real.

“Is this good?” he asked, glancing over.

Oscar lifted the camera.

“Yeah.”

Click.

Lando shifted slightly.

Click.

“Wait—one more.”

He pushed himself off the wall, turning a bit, smile softer now, less staged.

Click.

Oscar lowered the camera slowly, looking at the screen for a second longer than necessary.

Lando walked back over immediately, impatient.

“Show me.”

Oscar turned the screen toward him.

Lando leaned in again, shoulder brushing his, eyes scanning the photos quickly.

And then—

He smiled.

Really smiled.

“Okay,” he said softly. “Yeah… that’s good.”

Lando insisted on taking at least one photo of Oscar as well, and he only agreed to make him shut up.

“Stand there,” Lando said, already lifting the camera again, pointing vaguely at the wall.

Oscar sighed but did as told, leaning back against the painted concrete, arms loose at his sides, looking entirely too natural for someone who claimed he didn’t care.

“Don’t look like you hate me,” Lando added, squinting through the lens.

“I don’t hate you,” Oscar said flatly.

“Could’ve fooled me.”

Oscar rolled his eyes but didn’t move.

Click.

Lando adjusted slightly.

“Okay wait—this one’s actually good.”

Click.

He lowered the camera, checking the screen with a small nod, clearly satisfied.

“Yeah… I’m keeping that.”

Oscar just shook his head, pushing himself off the wall.

“I wish we had paint,” Lando said suddenly, almost to himself, still looking at the wall. “So I could sign it.”

Oscar raised a brow at that.

“Didn’t take you for a rebel like that.”

Lando turned to him immediately, grin already forming.

“It’s completely legal here!” he protested. “I looked it up last year!”

“It might be legal on Hosier Lane,” Oscar said, unimpressed. “But definitely not here.”

“Oscar!” Lando looked genuinely scandalised. “Why wouldn’t you choose a spot that’s legal for that?”

Oscar shrugged lightly, like it really wasn’t that deep.

“I had to make sure it’d still be here until your race ended,” he said. “Also wanted somewhere quiet.”

Lando blinked.

Because… yeah.

That made sense.

Still—

“That’s so annoying,” he muttered, though there was no real bite to it, eyes drifting back to the wall again, softer now.

Like he didn’t actually mind.

Not really.

“C’mon, your next surprise starts soon.” Oscar took his hand and tugged lightly.

“There’s more?” Lando looked at him, eyes lighting up instantly.

Oscar chuckled. “Yeah. Planned a consolation prize, didn’t I?”

Lando followed without question, excitement bubbling right back up. “What is it?”

“I’ll show you my real home race, Mr. Winner.”

It sounded teasing, almost sarcastic—but there was no edge to it. If anything, there was something warm underneath. Something that felt… proud.

Lando’s grin only widened.

They reached the car just as the sun dipped fully below the horizon, the last light fading into evening.

The drive took a while, long enough for the city to shift around them, until Oscar finally pulled into a crowded parking lot of an open shopping centre. It was bright, alive even at this hour—completely different from the quiet, abandoned strip Lando had seen before.

This was buzzing.

Rows of cars lined up with their hoods open, people gathered in small groups, leaning over engines, talking, laughing. The low hum of conversation filled the space, occasionally broken by the sharp rev of an engine cutting through it.

Lando leaned toward the window immediately, curiosity taking over. His eyes moved quickly, scanning—modified setups, upgraded turbos, custom intakes. He didn’t even realise how focused he got.

Then suddenly—

Something soft dropped onto his head.

He blinked.

Oscar’s cap.

The Aussie had taken it off without a word and placed it over Lando’s curls, adjusting it quickly, almost instinctively.

“People are staring,” he said simply.

Lando snorted. “Mr. Piastri just rolled in. Of course they are.”

It was light. Playful.

But when he turned his head slightly, something shifted.

People weren’t just looking at Oscar.

They were looking at him.

The looks weren’t the same as before—not like the tension back in Perth, when the black Senna had pulled in and everything had gone quiet, territorial.

This was different.

Curious.

Measuring.

Who was sitting in the passenger seat?

And Oscar—steady, composed Oscar had given up his cap without a second thought.

The younger parked toward the edge of the lot, away from the thickest crowd, and killed the engine.

“Stay put,” he said, already climbing out.

The door shut before Lando could protest.

He watched through the tinted glass, trying not to make it obvious he was watching. Oscar slipped into it effortlessly the second his feet hit the ground—like he belonged here in a way he didn’t anywhere else. A few nods, quick grins, hands clapping his shoulders. Easy. Natural.

A guy slightly shorter than him — maybe even a bit shorter than Lando approached, animated, talking with his hands. Oscar leaned in to listen.

And then the hood of the Senna was lifted.

Metal blocked his entire view.

Lando sank back into the seat, crossing his arms over his chest.

Annoyed.

Because seriously?

He was an adult. Older than the Aussie. A race winner — today, actually.

And he’d just been told to stay inside like a toddler left in the car during a petrol stop.

He toyed with the idea of getting out anyway. Slamming the door just a little too hard. Making a point.

He could.

He really could.

But something about it didn’t sit right.

Not because he couldn’t.

Because Oscar had asked him not to.

And for some reason, that mattered more than it should.

And then there was the other side of it.

The realistic side.

He could be recognised in seconds. Especially tonight. Especially after winning. One wrong photo, one tag online, and suddenly this quiet corner of Oscar’s world wouldn’t be quiet anymore.

So he stayed.

Watched the shifting shadows over the windshield as people leaned over the open hood. Heard the faint bursts of laughter. Caught pieces of Oscar’s voice, low and easy.

The cap slipped slightly over his eyes and he adjusted it with a quiet huff.

Five minutes passed.

Then ten.

His annoyance simmered into something else.

Not jealousy — he refused to call it that but a tightness low in his stomach. Because out there, Oscar looked at ease. At home.

And in here—

Lando felt like something hidden.

Like something temporary.

Like something that didn’t quite belong in that space.

He shifted in the seat, jaw tightening slightly, eyes flicking back to the hood like he could somehow see through it if he tried hard enough.

Just as he was about to give up and step out anyway—

The hood dropped with a solid thud.

Lando straightened slightly without meaning to.

Oscar rounded the front of the car, tapping the windshield lightly with his knuckles before opening the passenger door.

“You good?” he asked, like he hadn’t just left him stewing.

Lando tilted his head, unimpressed. “Thought you said this was your home race. Looks like you’re the main event.”

Oscar’s mouth twitched.

“They wanted to see the upgrades.”

A beat.

“On the car, Lan.”

Lando rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth betrayed him.

Oscar started the engine again, the Senna rolling forward slowly, almost lazily, weaving between clusters of people and parked builds. The atmosphere shifted as they moved—heads turning again, conversations pausing just slightly as the car passed.

“Are we already leaving?” Lando asked, trying — and failing to mask the disappointment in his voice.

“No.” Oscar’s tone stayed even as he guided the Senna toward the far end of the lot, closer to the open exit that spilled onto a wide stretch of road. He aligned the car neatly between the faded white lines and let it idle.

“Now,” he added, glancing sideways, “we’re waiting.”

Lando frowned slightly. “Waiting for what?”

Oscar didn’t answer straight away.

He just smirked.

And Lando’s breath caught before he could stop it.

There was something unfair about that expression—controlled, deliberate, but with something sharper underneath. Something that didn’t belong to the calm, quiet version of Oscar he’d gotten used to. This one was beautiful in a way that felt mildly dangerous.

“For someone brave enough,” Oscar said at last.

As if summoned by the words, the low growl of another engine rolled through the lot.

Heads turned.

A modified Nissan — loud, lowered, clearly built with care pulled toward the exit lane. The same shorter guy from earlier was in the driver’s seat, window down, elbow hooked casually over the door.

He revved once.

Not loud enough to show off.

Just enough to ask.

Oscar’s fingers tightened slightly on the steering wheel. Not tense. Focused.

Lando looked between them, eyes narrowing slightly. “You’re kidding.”

Oscar didn’t look at him. “You wanted my home race.”

Another rev. Louder now.

The space ahead of them was clear — a long, straight stretch before the next set of lights. Not official. Not announced.

The space ahead of them stretched open—a long, clean straight leading out past the lights. No signals. No countdown.

But it didn’t need one.

Lando felt it anyway.

That shift in the air.

Oscar’s hands adjusted on the wheel—not tight, not nervous.

Focused.

Ready.

His lips curved just slightly.

“Seatbelt on?”

Lando’s stomach flipped.

He had spent the entire afternoon being the professional. Managing tyres. Managing fuel. Managing expectations. Standing on a podium under fireworks with cameras shoved in his face.

And now he was sitting passenger while Oscar Piastri — local street legend apparently lined up at a random shopping centre exit like it was the most normal thing in the world.

“Oscar,” Lando warned, but there was no real bite in it. More awe than authority.

Oscar adjusted his grip on the wheel.

“You trust me?” 

That shut Lando up.

Because yeab. Annoyingly. Completely.

He exhaled sharply and reached for the seatbelt, adjusting it properly this time. “If we die after I win your home race, I’m haunting you.”

“Relax it’ll just be a launch.” Oscar’s mouth twitched.

The Nissan’s driver raised three fingers out the window.

Lando felt it immediately—his pulse kicking up again, sharp and familiar but different from lights-out nerves. Messier. Less controlled.

Two.

Oscar changed.

Just like that.

The teasing disappeared, something sharper settling in its place. His jaw set, eyes locked forward, hands steady on the wheel.

One.

Tyres screamed, rear stepping out before snapping back into line.

Oscar didn’t react the same way.

He didn’t just floor it.

He fed the throttle in—controlled, deliberate—and the Senna hooked. No drama, no wasted movement, just a brutal, clean surge that slammed Lando back into the seat.

“Bloody hell—” Lando breathed, half laugh, half disbelief.

First gear disappeared almost instantly. The engine screamed, higher and cleaner than the Nissan’s guttural roar.

But instead of staying on the straight, the Nissan veered right at the last second — not toward the main road, but into a side stretch that curved around the back of the shopping complex.

Lando’s stomach dropped.

“That’s not a straight!” he shouted.

Oscar’s lips curved slightly. “Didn’t say it was.”

He followed.

Second gear slammed in as they hit the bend.

The corner wasn’t tight, but it wasn’t forgiving either. The road dipped and shifted, painted lines flashing under the headlights, a median appearing too fast for comfort.

The Nissan braked late, rear twitching as it clipped the corner aggressively.

Oscar braked smoother — later than Lando would’ve liked — the ceramic brakes biting hard but controlled. The Senna rotated cleanly through the curve, downforce pressing it into the asphalt like an invisible hand.

Lando grabbed the door this time for real.

They burst out of the corner nearly side by side.

Third gear.

A short straight opened — but only for a breath before the road kinked left under a pedestrian bridge. Shadows swallowed them briefly, headlights flashing across concrete pillars.

The Nissan’s exhaust cracked loudly on the upshift, slightly unsettled over a patch of uneven asphalt.

Oscar adjusted mid-corner without thinking — tiny steering correction, barely visible, but enough. The car stayed planted.

“You’ve getting cocky,” Lando accused, adrenaline spiking.

Oscar didn’t deny it.

They shot toward a roundabout ahead — small, badly lit, decorative palm tree in the centre.

The Nissan dove inside.

Messy.

Fast.

Oscar took a wider entry, faster exit. Smooth in, sharp out. The rear stepped just slightly before traction control kissed it back into line.

The centrifugal force shoved Lando sideways.

He was grinning now.

Fully grinning.

“This is illegal,” he said breathlessly.

“Very.”

They came out level again.

Another short straight.

Another corner—tighter this time.

The Nissan pushed too hard into it, braking late, tyres protesting.

Oscar didn’t hesitate.

Carried more speed through the apex.

Got on power earlier.

Fourth gear.

The Senna surged ahead properly this time — not by brute force alone, but by cleaner lines. Better exits. Precision over chaos.

The gap widened to a full car length.

Ahead, traffic lights shifted yellow.

Oscar lifted.

Hard but controlled braking. No intersection gamble. No heroics.

The Nissan slowed too, pulling up beside them at the red light.

Silence fell except for ticking engines and distant cheers echoing from somewhere behind.

Lando was breathing like he’d just done qualifying.

He turned slowly toward Oscar.

“That,” he said, voice charged and disbelieving, “was not a launch.”

Oscar finally looked at him, calm settling back in like it had never left.

“You handled it well for a circuit driver.”

“I was in the passenger seat!”

Lando let out a slightly hysterical laugh, pushing the cap back into place as it slipped over his eyes.

“You’re insane.”

“Still didn’t scream,” Oscar said, and there was something almost proud in his voice.

“I absolutely screamed.”

A beat.

Oscar’s eyes flicked over him then—quick but thorough. Flushed cheeks, hair a mess under the cap, grin still too wide to be normal, pupils blown with adrenaline.

He looked… alive.

“You trust me?” Oscar asked again, quieter this time.

Not teasing.

Not challenging.

Just asking.

Lando didn’t hesitate.

“Yeah,” he said. “I do.”

The light turned green.

This time, Oscar drove normally.

Smooth.

Controlled.

Like nothing had just happened.

Lando leaned back into the seat, exhaling slowly, the adrenaline still buzzing under his skin, refusing to settle.

“You really wanted me to see you win as a consolation prize if I didn’t get podium?” he said after a moment, voice light, teasing. “You’re cruel, Osc.”

Oscar didn’t react straight away. Just kept his eyes on the road, one hand resting loosely on the wheel.

“I didn’t think of a proper consolation prize,” he said finally, tone easy, “because I knew you wouldn’t need one.”

That—

That made Lando shut up.

Completely.

Because there was no joke in it.

No teasing edge.

Just certainty.

And somehow, that hit harder than anything else Oscar had said that night.

Lando looked at him for a second, something shifting quietly in his chest, before he turned his gaze back to the road.

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward.

Just… full.

“Alright, you hungry?” Oscar asked suddenly, glancing at him.

Lando turned his head immediately, expression softening into something almost ridiculous.

“I want pancakes,” he said, no hesitation.

Oscar huffed a quiet laugh. “I don’t think we’ll find a place that serves pancakes at this hour.”

Lando looked at him again, a little more carefully this time, voice dropping slightly.

“Room service has pancakes.”

There was something almost shy about it.

Oscar caught it.

“Alright.”

Just like that.

They pulled into the Hilton parking lot again.

But this time it didn’t feel heavy.

Didn’t feel like an ending.

If anything, it felt like something continuing.

They got out of the car, and Lando didn’t even think about it before reaching for his hand again. Oscar let him, fingers fitting together easily as they walked toward the entrance.

It was quiet between them.

Not empty.

Just careful.

They stayed close as they made their way inside, both more aware now.

Of people.

Of eyes.

Of what this could look like.

They didn’t say it out loud, but every step was measured. Subtle adjustments. Hands slipping apart for a second when someone passed too close, then finding each other again when it was safe.

Not wanting to explain.

Not wanting to break whatever this was.

Their little bubble.

And somehow, they made it upstairs without being stopped.

Without being seen.

Without anything interrupting it.

They both changed into Lando’s clothes this time.

They fit Lando perfectly, loose and comfortable, but on Oscar they sat just a bit too tight, slightly shorter at the ankles, like they weren’t meant for him at all.

He didn’t complain.

Didn’t even mention it.

Lando noticed anyway.

Tried not to smile about it.

Oscar moved around the room like it was nothing, picking up the phone and ordering without hesitation, voice calm and steady.

“Pancakes, yeah?” he asked, glancing over.

“And whatever else,” Lando added quickly. “I’m starving.”

Oscar huffed under his breath but added more to the order anyway before hanging up.

The room settled after that.

Quiet.

Comfortable.

Lando dropped onto the bed, stretching out, limbs heavy but his mind still buzzing from everything—the race, the adrenaline, the drive, Oscar.

Oscar turned back toward him, leaning briefly against the desk before walking over.

“Wanna play Mario Kart?” Lando asked, smiling up at him.

Oscar raised a brow.

“You sure you can handle losing after today?”

Lando pushed himself up slightly, offended. “Excuse me? I just won a Grand Prix.”

“Exactly,” Oscar said, sitting down beside him, completely unfazed. “Don’t get used to it.”

Lando snorted, grabbing the controllers.

“You’re insufferable.”

Oscar took one without protest.

“And you’re about to lose,” he said simply.

Lando leaned a little closer without thinking, shoulder brushing his.

“We’ll see about that.”

Chapter Text

The next morning felt heavy.

From the moment Lando opened his eyes, there was a tightness in his chest he couldn’t quite shake. The kind that didn’t come from nerves or pressure—but from knowing something was about to end.

Their time had run out.

Beside him, Oscar was still asleep for once. Breathing steady, slow, one arm thrown loosely around Lando’s waist—until Lando shifted slightly, and the grip tightened instinctively, like even half-asleep he wasn’t ready to let go.

Lando let out a quiet breath, something close to surrender.

Because truth be told—

He didn’t want to get up.

Not yet.

Not when everything felt like this.

With no easy way to reach his phone, he turned his head slightly toward the window instead, trying to judge the time by the light outside.

Still dark.

Too early.

Good.

He shifted carefully onto his other side, closer this time, fitting into the space without really thinking about it.

Oscar didn’t wake.

Just adjusted slightly, holding him a little closer.

Lando closed his eyes again.

The next time he woke up, it was to his alarm.

Sharp. Unwelcome.

A reminder that reality was waiting.

Lando groaned quietly, eyes still closed as he reached blindly for his phone, fingers fumbling across the sheets.

Before he could find it—

A soft shift beside him.

The sound cut off.

Silence.

Lando opened his eyes slowly, almost carefully, like if he did it too fast the moment might disappear.

Oscar was awake.

Looking down at him, hair a mess, voice still rough with sleep.

“Aren’t you clingy?” he chuckled, accent heavier like it always got in the mornings.

Lando blinked.

Then realised.

At some point during the night, things had shifted.

Now he was half sprawled across Oscar’s chest, one leg thrown over him, arm tucked in like he’d decided this was his spot and never moved again.

He didn’t move away.

“Excuse you,” he muttered, voice still thick with sleep. “I tried to get out of bed hours ago, but you didn’t let me.”

Oscar huffed softly, not even pretending to deny it.

They stayed like that for a while—neither moving, neither speaking. Just… there, holding onto it for as long as they could.

Because once they moved, once they spoke—

It would be over.

Lando’s phone buzzing broke it.

Sharp against the quiet.

He groaned softly but didn’t move at first, like ignoring it might make it stop.

It didn’t.

Oscar shifted slightly instead, reaching over and grabbing it from the bedside, glancing at the screen before handing it to him without a word.

Lando took it with a quiet sigh.

“Hi.”

His tone changed immediately.

Not cold.

Just… different.

“Yes, I’m awake,” he said, already sounding more alert, more put together than he felt. “Yes, I know the flight’s in four hours.”

A pause.

“No, I don’t need a ride. I’ve got it covered.”

Short.

Professional.

Efficient.

Like the morning before never happened.

The second the call ended, Lando dropped the phone onto the other side of the bed and groaned, dragging a hand over his face.

“I need a shower,” he muttered, pushing himself up slowly. “And pack.”

Reality.

Again.

Oscar sat up a bit more, watching him.

“You go shower,” he said simply. “I’ll take care of the rest.”

Lando looked at him.

And smiled.

Soft.

Grateful.

“Thanks.”

Oscar folded the clothes carefully into the suitcase, the quiet sound of the shower running behind the closed door filling the room.

He moved slower than he needed to.

Not because it was difficult.

Because it meant something.

He paused for a second when he picked up the sweater Lando had worn yesterday, fingers brushing over the fabric like it might still hold some warmth. Then the hoodie—one he must’ve taken earlier without even realising.

Oscar hesitated.

Then packed them anyway.

He had more than enough clothes.

That wasn’t the point.

The thought of Lando wearing them—even when he wasn’t around settled somewhere deeper than he expected. Something quiet. Something a little too close to possessive for comfort.

He didn’t question it.

Just zipped that part of the bag closed.

He left a set of clean, comfortable clothes out on the bed for the flight, placed neatly, like it had been planned.

By the time Lando came out of the shower, hair still damp, the room was almost ready.

Oscar didn’t waste time.

He slipped past him with a quiet “your turn done?” and disappeared into the bathroom for his own quick shower.

No lingering.

No overthinking.

Just enough.

When he came back out, Lando was already dressed, fully put together again, zipping up his bags.

Back to himself.

Or at least—

Something closer to it.

Oscar paused for a second, taking it in.

Then stepped forward.

“Breakfast?”

Lando just nodded.

He didn’t trust himself to say more without it sounding like something else.

Oscar picked up all the luggage without a word—because of course he did—and headed for the door. Lando followed, grabbing only his phone, falling into step beside him.

This time, they kept their distance.

Not too obvious.

Just enough.

Hands didn’t brush. Shoulders didn’t bump. They walked like two people who just happened to be heading the same way.

Nobody questioned it.

Not the staff.

Not the guests passing by.

To anyone looking, Oscar could’ve been part of the team. Someone from PR. A mechanic. Someone who belonged in that space without drawing attention.

And Lando—

Lando knew how to play his part.

They reached the parking lot quickly.

The car was already packed within seconds, Oscar fitting everything in like he’d done it a hundred times before.

Then they were back inside.

Doors closing.

Seatbelts clicking.

And just like that—

They were on the road again.

The city moving around them, early morning still quiet, the kind of silence that didn’t last long.

Neither of them spoke at first.

Because there wasn’t much left to say.

Not without making it harder.

Oscar parallel parked smoothly on a quiet street, right in front of a small coffee shop.

“Wait a second,” he said, already unbuckling.

Lando didn’t argue.

Didn’t even look at him, just adjusted the bucket hat lower on his head and sank further into the seat as the door shut.

The quiet was… easier like this.

He pulled his phone out, unlocking it without really thinking.

An hour.

That’s all he had.

For a moment, the thought came back.

Not going.

Staying.

Just one more day.

Stretching it a little further, like they had been doing this whole time.

But it faded as quickly as it came.

Because he knew better.

He had to be in China in three days.

Couldn’t risk delays, transfers, missed connections. The safest option was the one already planned—going now, with the team, in the McLaren yet, no complications.

No excuses.

Still—

He stared at the screen a little longer than necessary before locking it again.

Oscar came back a few minutes later, a small paper bag in one hand, two coffee cups in the other.

He slipped back into the driver’s seat like it was nothing, handing Lando the bag without comment before starting the engine again.

They drove in silence.

Not uncomfortable.

Just… quiet.

The kind that came when there wasn’t much left to say, but neither of them wanted to break it.

Fifteen minutes passed like that.

Then Oscar slowed.

Turned.

And parked again.

This time near a roundabout, the airport visible not far ahead, planes moving slowly in the distance, the reality of it all suddenly a lot closer.

Lando didn’t move at first.

Didn’t say anything.

Just looked ahead.

“Lan?” Oscar asked, voice quieter now. Softer. “What do you want to eat?”

It pulled Lando out of his head instantly.

He blinked, like he’d been somewhere else entirely, then looked down at the bag in his lap. He didn’t think about it—just reached in, grabbed the first thing he felt, and handed the bag back.

Oscar traded it for a cup of tea without a word.

Lando took a bite.

A bagel.

Cream cheese.

He chewed slowly, but barely tasted it.

They ate like that.

In silence.

Watching planes move in the distance, taxiing, taking off, disappearing into the sky one by one.

Lando followed them with his eyes.

Knowing.

Soon—

He’d be on one of them too.

Leaving this.

Leaving the past few days behind.

The easiest he’d felt in… he didn’t even know how long.

That small world they’d somehow built together. Quiet mornings, late nights, stupid banter, comfortable silence.

Oscar.

And going back to something else.

To the version of himself that fit better on camera than it ever did in his own skin.

They finished without really noticing.

Just empty hands.

Empty cups.

The quiet stretching again.

“Ready?” Oscar asked.

Lando swallowed.

“Yeah.”

It was all he trusted himself to say.

“Yeah?” Oscar echoed, turning his head slightly, looking at him properly now.

There was something in his eyes.

Lando couldn’t name it.

Didn’t try.

Oscar leaned closer, slow, careful, like he was giving him time to pull away if he wanted to.

He pushed the brim of the hat up slightly, just enough—

And pressed a soft kiss to his forehead.

It lasted barely a second.

Maybe less.

But it stayed.

Then he pulled back, like nothing had happened, settling into his seat again and starting the engine.

Like it hadn’t just shifted something.

Like it hadn’t meant anything.

But it did.

 —

Lando turned around only once after stepping inside the airport.

Just once.

He caught a glimpse of Oscar still leaning against the car, exactly where he left him, like he hadn’t moved at all. His posture was the same, but his eyes were fixed on him—steady, unwavering.

For a second, Lando held it.

Then his vision blurred.

Tears came too fast, too sudden, and he had to look away before they fell.

The airport swallowed him whole after that.

Noise.

Movement.

People.

His team found him quickly in the chaos. Someone took his bag. Someone else had his passport already in hand, flipping through it, checking details. Another voice guided him forward, keeping him moving, step by step.

He didn’t have to think.

Didn’t have time to.

Before he knew it, he was on the plane.

Strapped in.

Surrounded.

And his mind went right back.

To Melbourne.

To Oscar.

He wondered how long he’d stay.

If he’d linger there for a bit, or if he’d get in the car and leave like he always did. Just drive until something else caught his attention.

He wondered if it felt the same for him.

That tight, hollow feeling in his chest.

Like something had been taken too quickly.

Pato was talking beside him.

Complaining about the race, about the spin, about how it could’ve gone differently.

Lando nodded at the right moments.

Didn’t really hear a word.

His phone sat in his hand.

The photo already open.

Him in front of the wall.

The neon colours bright behind him, his smile softer than anything he’d posted in a long time.

He stared at it for a second.

Then typed.

Simple.

I love you Melbourne.

He hit post.

And for a moment, he wondered—

If Oscar would understand what he really meant.

 —

Soon enough, he was somewhere else entirely—another city, another country, another continent. Another time zone.

Melbourne felt distant already, like something that had happened a long time ago instead of just hours.

It was Tuesday.

Late.

Too late to think, too late to process anything properly.

He got to the hotel, barely registering the lobby, the elevator, the room. Everything blurred together into one long, quiet movement.

The door closed behind him.

Silence.

He didn’t bother unpacking.

Didn’t check his phone.

Didn’t even turn the lights on properly.

He just let his bag drop somewhere near the door and made it to the bed, collapsing onto it still half-dressed.

The sheets were cold.

Too clean.

Nothing like—

He shut his eyes before the thought could finish.

And for once, sleep came immediately.

 —

The whole day, Lando did nothing.

Nothing useful, at least.

He forced himself to go to the gym at some point, more out of fear of Jon’s reaction than any actual motivation. The session was half-hearted, his body there, his mind somewhere else entirely.

Apart from that—

He stayed in his room.

No meetings.

No media.

No sightseeing.

Nothing.

Just lying around, scrolling aimlessly, staring at the ceiling more often than not.

He texted Oscar every now and then, keeping it light, casual. Throwaway messages that made it seem like he was busy, like he had things to do.

Like he wasn’t just… waiting.

Oscar saw through it immediately.

Of course he did.

The call came not long after.

“Hi,” Lando said, picking up, trying to sound normal.

“Did you do anything useful today?” Oscar asked.

Straight to the point.

Lando let out a small breath.

“I—” he hesitated for half a second, then gave up. “No?”

“Lan.” Oscar sighed quietly. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m—” Lando paused, swallowing. “’m just tired. It’s been a long couple of days.”

“You sure?”

There was something in his voice.

Not pushing.

Just… knowing.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah?” Lando could hear the faint smile in it, like Oscar didn’t believe him for a second.

“Yeah,” he said again, more certain this time, forcing it to sound real. Then he shifted quickly, not wanting to stay there. “What are you up to today? I bet it’s more interesting than me.”

“Not much,” Oscar said easily. “Going to my mum’s for dinner later. She’s been nagging me for ages.”

Lando smiled a little at that.

“Also need to finish up some work at the shop.”

“Why, are you going somewhere?” Lando asked, turning onto his side, suddenly more interested.

“Yeah,” Oscar said. “There’s a race in Adelaide tomorrow.”

Lando stilled slightly.

A race.

Of course there was.

Something in his chest tightened again, not as sharp as before—but enough.

“Of course there is,” he muttered, trying to keep it light.

Oscar didn’t comment on that.

Just let the silence sit for a second.

“Is there a prize if you win?” Lando asked after a moment. “Like a trophy or something?”

Oscar chuckled softly. “I mean… you get cash for it. You pay for entry and whoever wins takes it.”

Lando shifted on the bed, suddenly more interested. “How much?”

“Depends on the city,” Oscar said. “It was five hundred in Perth.”

A small pause.

“Can go up to a thousand in Sydney if there’s a lot of entries. Keeps at least half of them out.”

Lando blinked.

Then did the math.

“So you earned two and a half thousand dollars back then?” he asked, a bit shocked.

Oscar laughed under his breath. “Technically only two thousand since I got my share back.”

Lando huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head against the pillow.

“That’s insane.”

“It’s not that deep,” Oscar said simply.

“It is,” Lando insisted. “You’re just casually racing random people for money like it’s a normal Tuesday.”

There was a small pause on the line.

Then—

“It kind of is,” Oscar admitted.

Lando went quiet for a second.

Trying to picture it.

Oscar there. In that world. Same calm voice, same steady hands—but doing something completely different from everything Lando knew.

“You ever lose?” he asked, softer now.

Oscar didn’t answer straight away.

“Yeah,” he said eventually.

Lando frowned slightly.

“But not often,” Oscar added.

And there it was again.

That quiet confidence.

Lando smiled to himself, staring up at the ceiling.

“Of course,” he muttered.

A beat passed.

“Do you ever get scared?” he asked, almost without thinking.

This time Oscar did pause.

Longer.

“Not really,” he said. “You don’t have time to be.”

Lando let that sit.

Because that—

That was different from racing.

In his world, fear was managed. Controlled. Built into the system.

In Oscar’s—

It sounded like it didn’t belong at all.

“That’s mental,” Lando murmured.

“Probably,” Oscar said lightly.

Another small silence settled.

Comfortable, but not empty.

Lando turned his head slightly, pressing his cheek into the pillow.

“You better win tomorrow,” he said.

Oscar huffed a quiet laugh.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Lando said, more certain now. “Would be embarrassing if you didn’t.”

For once, it was Oscar who had to run first.

“Don’t mope in your room all day. You’re in Shanghai, go do something fun,” he said, before cutting the call.

Lando stared at the screen for a second after it ended.

Then sighed.

And did the exact opposite.

He grabbed his laptop and spent the rest of the day playing video games, mindlessly queuing into matches, not really caring if he won or lost.

—

The next morning felt… normal.

Or at least what he would’ve called normal a year ago.

Room service breakfast. Cold fruit, decent coffee, something warm he barely tasted.

Training with Jon.

Meetings.

Social media content.

Enough to fill the time.

Not enough to stop his mind from drifting back to Australia every other moment.

Won.

The message came in late at night. The time difference was only three hours, but enough for them to miss each other completely sometimes.

It still made Lando smile when he saw it in the morning.

Media day came and went.

Soon enough, he was back in the car.

Only one free practice.

Sprint quali.

And the first sprint race of the year.

Different format. Less time. Less room for mistakes.

It didn’t go the way he expected.

Not bad.

Just… not right.

Back in the garage, helmet off, still processing, he reached for his phone almost automatically.

The message was already there.

Don’t fight the front end into Turn 1. You’re turning in too early and killing your exit. Let it roll a fraction longer, square it off, and focus on traction out.

Lando stared at it for a moment too long.

Reading it again.

And again.

Let it roll.

Square it off.

Focus on traction.

He exhaled slowly.

“Alright,” he muttered to himself.

Because somehow—

That made sense.

—

He found the koala keychain the morning before the race.

It had slipped between things in his bag, forgotten for a moment.

He didn’t think about it much.

Just picked it up and tucked it into his pocket.

For luck.

For comfort.

For something that still felt like home.

The lights went out clean.

Lando reacted on instinct, clutch bite sharp, tyres hooking just enough as the car surged forward. Not his best launch, but not bad either. He covered the inside instinctively into Turn 1, slotting in behind Pato, who had gotten the better start.

P3.

“Good start, Lando. Settle in.”

“Copy.”

The opening laps were tight, compressed, cars bunched together as everyone fought for position, tyres still coming in, grip not quite there yet. He stayed close, close enough to feel it, but not desperate. Not forcing anything.

Not like yesterday.

Turn 1 came again.

Reflex told him to send it.

Push.

Late brake.

Make something happen.

Instead—

He didn’t.

He let it roll.

Just like Oscar said.

A fraction longer on entry, no fighting the front, no scrubbing speed unnecessarily. He squared it off, focused on the exit, getting the traction down clean.

It felt slower.

But it wasn’t.

“Better, Lando. That’s good.”

He exhaled.

Settled.

The race unfolded in phases.

First stint, he stayed within range, hovering just over a second behind Pato. Close enough to pressure, not close enough to attack. The dirty air made it tricky, front tyres complaining if he got too eager.

He managed it.

Carefully.

Lap by lap.

He watched Pato’s lines, the way he positioned the car through the long corners, where he gained, where he struggled. Data would tell him later but right now, it was instinct.

Observation.

Patience.

Pit window opened.

“Box this lap.”

Clean entry.

Clean stop.

He rejoined still in contention, cycling through traffic as the rest of the field filtered in. A couple of overtakes—precise, efficient, no hesitation.

But no risks either.

Not today.

Second stint.

The gap hovered.

Never quite close enough.

Never far enough to give up.

“Gap to P1 is 1.4.”

“Copy.”

He pushed when he could.

Backed off when he needed.

Managed tyres.

Managed himself.

At one point, he got within DRS.

One second.

0.8.

0.6.

The opportunity was there.

Turn 1 again.

That same instinct flickered.

Go for it.

Send it.

He didn’t.

He stayed back.

Took the better exit.

Stayed in it.

But Pato defended cleanly, no mistakes, no openings.

And Lando knew—

It wasn’t there.

Not today.

Mid-race, the field spread out. The fight grew quieter—less about overtakes, more about execution. He focused on hitting every mark: braking points, throttle application, consistency.

Oscar’s voice echoed in his head more than once.

You’re chasing the lap.

Let it come to you.

So he did.

Or at least he tried.

Final stint. Tyres hanging on, body starting to feel it—arms heavier, neck tighter.

“Gap to P1 is 2.1.”

It had slipped slightly.

Not much.

But enough.

Enough to know this wasn’t a fight he was going to win.

He didn’t give up.

He never did.

But he stopped forcing it. Drove clean—precise, professional. Last few laps, the gap steady. No threats from behind, no real chance ahead. Just bring it home. Final lap.

He crossed the line.

“P2, Lando. That’s P2. Great job.”

“Yeah,” he breathed out. “Good job, guys.”

And he meant it.

Parc fermé.

Out of the car.

Helmet off.

The world rushed back in.

Noise.

Voices.

Cameras.

He smiled.

Because that’s what you do.

Podium.

The view from up there was familiar.

Too familiar.

He stood beside Pato, trophy in hand, champagne spraying, cameras flashing.

Everything exactly how it should be.

Everything exactly what he had worked for.

P2 was solid.

Good points for him. For the team.

A 1–2 finish.

He was still leading the championship.

That should’ve been enough.

More than enough, actually.

More than he’d ever had before.

He told himself it was fine.

That this was good.

That this was what mattered.

He just needed to reset.

Pull himself back together.

Find his rhythm again.